


Wicked Ones

by nate_heywood



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Kind of a slow burn, Missions, Peraltiago, Pining, Secrets, Undercover, a little violent, might be more characters not sure yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2020-06-28 12:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nate_heywood/pseuds/nate_heywood
Summary: Jake Peralta knew this case would be his big break. All he had to do was enter a mob, gain the trust of a high ranking member, and get back to his apartment before it attracted rats. Easy, right? However, he didn't exactly account for the millions of things that could go wrong in his time undercover. Sure, Jake could have predicted ending up on the receiving end of far too many punches, finding an unlikely father figure, and crying more than he wanted to, but he could never predict Amy Santiago. He could never predict the relentless teasing, the endless secrets, or the hard times he would go through with her at his side. And he certainly could never predict falling in love.





	1. Trial by Fire

The last time Jake remembered his hands shaking so much was at his bar mitzvah, which certainly didn't take place on a back alley on the streets of New York. While he would normally be rambling to the closest person about how bad-ass his case was, the couldn't fight off the sinking feeling growing in his stomach. The last time he went undercover with a mob, it was full of drinking, partying, and bonding, but he doubted this experience would resemble the last. This primarily Cuban mob was known for being brutal and unforgiving, especially when it came to traitors. Given that he was just a skinny white boy who didn't speak Spanish, he figured that he was pretty much screwed.

His typically restless demeanor only exacerbated the already tense situation. Every time he shifted in his spot, his eyes darted around to make sure he hadn't missed anything deadly. He even tried to pry his eyes open to make sure he wouldn't blink, but the stinging made him largely unsuccessful. Every little sound from shouts in the street to the humming of the generator next to him almost caused him to jump.

"Jason Pierce," a deep drawl came from his right.

It took Jake a moment to remember the persona he created for himself in his panic. He had been sure to maintain his initials, mostly for the sake of still being able to scrawl out the same messy signature. However, based on the glare the man gave him, he may have been doing less signing and more dying. 

"Uh, yeah, that's me," Jake sputtered out.

Between his shaking voice and fidgeting hands, he was certain that he appeared to be a complete idiot. His own appearance was especially lackluster compared to the man in front of him. His piercing eyes and crossed arms (which Jake could confirm were not lacking in muscle), made him want to sink into the pavement. Meanwhile, his own posture was more that of an anxious teacher than an intimidating criminal.

"My name is John Smith," he said. "A little birdie told me you want in on the action."

"Oh, we're using fake names. Got it, got it. Well, my name is John McClane. No, too obvious everyone wants to be him. Holly Genero! Nope, not that. Don't know why I got so excited," Jake rambled.

Despite the smile he forced onto his face, he doubted this 'John' guy was distracted. At least, the insistent tapping of his foot didn't suggest that.

"I already know your name," John sighed, shaking his head. "Just follow me."

After digging a key out of his pocket, he shoved it into the lock as if taking revenge on it. Jake watched his every move like his life depended on it, which it most definitely did. He didn't have to worry about that for very long, though, as the moment he closed the door, he was engulfed in darkness.

"As much as I love to be sitting in the dark right now. I was kind of imagining I'd be selling drugs and eating those French snails by now," Jake said.

Although he laughed a bit, he heard nothing in return. He was used to using humor as a coping mechanism with Charles, but the minute he had no one to laugh back at his jokes, it simply reminded him how alone he was. If he died, it was possible he was so far undercover that no one would even notice.

As if on cue, the lights in the room flickered on. Jake released an admittedly embarrassing yelp, staggering back from the blinding brightness. Once he managed to blink away the dots forming in his vision, he noticed the elephant in the room. Directly in front of him, a man struggled against the ropes binding him to a chair. Jake couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt simply standing by while he fought for his freedom.

John cleared his throat, "there's steps to trust. We get plenty of cops showin' up at our doorstep. Look, I know you were recommended by a trusted family member, who would lose his head if he betrayed us, but we need to test you. Pass the four trials we give you, and you'll be part of the family. Of course, you'll have a shadow, but it's better than being a dead traitor cop. Understood?"

He nodded, desperately trying to swallow the growing lump in his throat.

"Let's make this as simple as possible. This guy's a pig, and you're gonna beat him up," he instructed.

Jake's breath hitched. Every instinct was telling him to bolt toward the door, but he remained in his spot. Any sudden twitch could alert the man in front of him that he was a detective. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew the officer from somewhere. His eyes darted to the badge on his already tattered uniform. Jennings. Jake racked his brain for who the name belonged to, cursing the fact he had the memory of a goldfish.

Even with a pointed glare, he doubted the officer got his message. While he tried to tell him 'don't blow my cover', he could have easily interpreted it as anything from a Die Hard reference (the most likely culprit) to a scolding about the incorrect details of his uniform (the least likely). He hoped his message got across, but the blank stare he got in return wasn't exactly promising. He took a few steps forward, wincing with each one.

"You don't have to do this, you know. You could just leave me alone and let me go back to my precinct," the officer begged.

The guilt returned, even more nauseating than the first flash. He found it harder and harder to keep himself standing instead of just crumpling in his spot. The only thing that saved him was repeating mentally that he was undercover, that he was working in the best interests of the NYPD, that none of this reflected on him as a person. Yet, it was impossible to dispel all the thoughts swirling around his mind.

"Sure, I don't have to do this. You didn't have to become a cop, but all of us make choices. Only one of us made the right one, though," Jake replied.

Forcing himself into his made-up persona was the only thing that kept him sane. At this moment, Jake would try to craft a clever joke to diffuse the situation. Jason, however, would say an angsty speech and punch the cop in front of him until his skull caved in. So, that was exactly what Jake did (save for the skull caving in part, as he wasn't nearly strong or violent enough for that). 

He clenched his fists, stepping forward until he was only inches away from the man's face. If he knew that was all it took for Jake to remember the officer, he would have done it long ago. His name was Gary. The same Gary with the cheery smiles as he held the door for every single person in the morning. The same Gary who always tried to impress his captain, no matter the costs. The same Gary that was tied to a chair and would likely never escape.

After an expectant cough from behind him, Jake squeezed his eyes shut and punched Gary. He yelped, trying desperately to shift back. He continued to land blows on the man with his eyes closed until the protests became too loud for him to ignore.

"Stop! Please, what is it that you want? Money? Power?" Gary asked.

The minute Jake forced his eyes open, he wished he hadn't. While Jake normally wouldn't say anyone looked horrible, Gary did, without a doubt. A stream of blood leaked from his nose, all the way down to his chin. He slumped over in his spot with clouded eyes and a faded expression. What made him look even more pitiful were the bruises littered on every exposed piece of skin. Jake couldn't help but wonder how many people had attacked him before this.

He realized he had yet to respond to the man's question. He at least owed that to him. What did he want? On a basic level the ability to run away, a slice of pizza, and a warm shower would all do the trick. However, he wanted far more than that. He wanted to feel successful for once in his life, to have the companionship he so desperately craved. He hid it all with humor and bragging, but he couldn't hide from himself. Deep down, he still thought of himself as just a scared kid with abandonment issues. Of course, he decided to reveal none of that.

"I want you dead, pig."

He couldn't remember ever being this violent before. Each time he aimed a punch at Gary, he expected it to give him the courage to continue, but it only made his ordeal more difficult. It took him a couple more minutes to pass out completely, his head rolling to the side and his body falling limp. Only at that point did Jake pull away, breathless. Blood was everywhere. It dripped down his hands and splattered across his shirt. If John wasn't watching him, he likely would have turned around and puked.

If he was supposed to be the good guy in this situation, why did he feel so horrible?

"Remember what I said about trust," John didn't even wait for Jake to respond. "You can ask one question now. Any more and you're out."

A million questions flooded through Jake's mind like a dam broke. Of course, he could ask a useful question like where they hid the drugs or money, but that would get him shot immediately.

"Are you the one in charge?"

"Not even close, amigo," he scoffed. "It'll take years of working until you meet him."

The smile he plastered on his face almost sunk at that. Years was far too long to be stuck in this compound pretending to be a violent meathead. Still, Jake would sacrifice himself for the mission in a heartbeat, so, if he didn't want to stay here forever, he would have to come up with another plan. He got so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice John dart into a nearby hallway. He found himself having to scramble after him, inches from falling flat on his face.

The winding passages reminded him of the maze in Pac-Man, except far larger. To him, it was also slightly reminiscent of a scary corn maze or those mazes on the back of kid's menus that, for whatever reason, were designed with no exits. He decided to cut off that train of thought before it spiraled into something completely unrelated.

"You know, this is just like a really intense summer camp," Jake commented as he stared up at the rooms towering above him.

Clearly, Jake's parents never let him go to summer camp, but he assumed it was something like this, just without the crime. Although John didn't respond, his skeptical expression made it clear he didn't agree. The pair reached a menacing door which might as well have skulls pegged onto it. However, it wasn't much of a surprise. Jake couldn't think of a single thing here that couldn't scare him senseless.

John leaned on the door, "I have better things to do than waste my time on you."

He had to stifle a response of 'wow rude', as he figured it was better to bite his tongue here. If he didn't it might actually cost him his tongue.

"So," the man continued, "You'll be assigned to another operative. If you do well, eventually, you'll be promoted and so will she."

He popped the door open and motioned him inside with an almost dramatic flair. In another life, he might have made a good actor. He could have at least played all those intimidating movie villains (though, none could outdo Hans Gruber).

The room stepped inside almost reminded Jake of a dojo. Not that he had ever been in one, but he could only assume that they looked this cool. The walls were lined with stone, but they seemed to be kept pristine enough that the place didn't look like Hitchcock's basement. A worn-down, red mat sat right in the middle of the room, but Jake couldn't focus on the room itself with the woman standing in it.

Jake wasn't one to exaggerate, but he would say without a doubt that she was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen (including his celebrity crushes). Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, barely touching her shoulders. Jake swore he caught a smile dancing across her lips, which was completely wrong for the environment but the perfect thing to make his heart skip a beat. Don't even get him started on her eyes. Sure,brown was the most common eye color, but the determination they revealed was anything but ordinary.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. She was a gang member, not his soulmate. She probably had never even heard of Die Hard _or_ Skyfire Cycle.

"I'm Jane Smith," she said.

"Wow," Jake chuckled. "You guys are consistent with the names, but at least mix it up. There's so much potential here! You could go with something like Brad Rocketface or Johnny Torpedo and you went with Jane Smith?"

She didn't respond, her lips forming a perfectly straight line. It was as if she took a page straight out of Captain Holt's book.

"Wow, you're quite the talker, huh?" Jake joked.

"I'm more of a worker. Why don't you come over here and I'll show you?"

Jake couldn't miss the taunting tone of her words, but he didn't pay it much mind. She was a gang member. They probably spoke in taunts alone. He practically crept up to the mat she was standing on, glancing around as if every single object in the room could become sentient and attack him. Unfortunately, these imaginary threats distracted him from the real danger right in front of him. It became painfully obvious when the woman's foot landed straight in his chest.

He stumbled back with an embarrassingly loud groan, "what was that for?"

"You really thought you wouldn't have to do more than beat up a cop who can't even fight back to get in?" She asked.

"Smort, smort."

Perhaps it wasn't the best response in a high-pressure situation, but Jake didn't seem to mind. Although Jane looked dismayed, he simply shot fingers guns in her direction and hoped that defused the situation. It didn't.

"Did you really just say...'smort'? You are aware that isn't a word, right?"

She aimed a similar kick at his chest, but he dodged away before it landed. Still, he was amazed by how fluid her movements were. If she wasn't seemingly dead-set on knocking him out, she might have asked her if she ever considered dance.

"You know words only become words because humans made them," Jake pointed out. "Just in case you were wondering how words were made or whatever. I mean grass? Seriously, who looked at the little green things coming out of the ground and decided it would be smart to call it grass?"

His goal of distracting the woman wasn't exactly working out, as he mainly just ended up getting himself on a tangent about words. Meanwhile, she attacked him like a trained assassin (which she probably was). Although he managed to dodge about half the blows, the rest would leave bruises scattered across his body for days. He was normally a glass half full kind of guy, but when it came to getting wounded, he could hardly keep that up.

He landed a few feeble punches on her, but they were nothing compared to the multitude she got in. He wasn't one to throw this around lightly, but she was completely whooping his ass. Jake's brain wasn't exactly functioning at its peak performance as he wheezed out his next words.

"You know, you fight like a robot."

"Yeah, a robot you're losing to. Very badly," she replied.

"Damnit. I mean, I knew robots were going to take over all our jobs, I just didn't expect it to happen so soon. Seems like they didn't perfect the emotions part yet, though, so it looks like we have time," Jake knew a smile wasn't appropriate in the situation, but he couldn't fight the one growing on his face.

He used the time he got away from fighting to take a few labored breaths. While he had nowhere near recovered from the beating he had taken at the hands of this woman, he did have an idea. He considered it a victory, as it was one more than the zero ideas he had just moments prior.

Sure, Jason Pierce was a mindless thug, but Jake Peralta was a detective, and, if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was detect. While the essence of his plan relied on more pain, he decided it was the only way. So, he only weakly defended himself as she continued to attack her, scrutinizing her body for any signs of slight weakness. It took him a few strikes to notice, but he managed to piece together that she relied on her left leg for most of her balance.

He prayed that he wouldn't just fall as he dove at Jane's leg. Thankfully, she collapsed, landing on the ground with a dull thump. He hesitated for a moment, before deciding that he needed a way to incapacitate her. He hardly even gave a second thought to the kind of situation he was putting them both in when he straddled her and pinned down her arms. She attempted to squirm out of his grip, but he knew better than to loosen it. He had spent long enough getting beaten up to have an aversion to it happening again.

"Uh," Jake started, clearing his throat. "This is a bit awkward, but I win then? Unless the goal was to lose, in which case I'm doing a horrible job."

The minute he ended up back in a favorable position, his cockiness returned like second nature. After years with Charles affirming his every movie, it might as well be.

"Now that we know you can actually fight, you get another question. Ask away, Pierce."

Jake didn't hesitate, "what's your name? Your real name."

"Out of all the questions in the world, that's what you want to know?"

Jake simply raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"It's Amy Santiago," she sighed through her response.

"And I know you're not lying because?"

"Because, if you're going to be part of our family, you have to trust me," Amy said, matter-of-factly. "Now take off your clothes."

"What?" Jake stumbled on his words. "I mean, maybe this is how you do it in the mob, but don't you think we're moving a little fast? We literally just met, you know."

His pure shock caused him to release Amy and roll back onto the ground. He glanced over at her, his eyes wide.

"Not like that," she scoffed, sitting up. "Unless you want your clothes all soggy, I would recommend you take them off."

Jake groaned, every little movement putting strain on the cuts and bruises forming on his body. Eventually, he managed to plant his arms by his sides. He pushed himself off of the floor, fidgeting with his hands.

"So you're just gonna watch me as I strip for you?" Jake teased, even though he in no way had the upper hand.

She wrinkled her nose, "no, I'm turning around."

Sure enough, she shot up from her spot much more quickly than Jake had. He unbuttoned his plaid shirt, taking a moment to look at the wounds on his chest. Amy had certainly done a number on him. He tossed his shirt on the edge of the mat, slipping off his pants next. Although he felt completely and uncomfortably exposed, he was more focused on Amy, who was trailing her way over from the back corner of the room.

She clamped her left hand tightly on a piece of fabric. Jake assumed it was a blindfold, but he figured a quick joke would confirm it.

"I mean, wow. Getting this kinky already? At least take me out to dinner like a mature adult," Jake said.

"You're wearing Spiderman boxers. You're really not one to talk about being grown up."

"Woah, woah, too far," he held his hands up in mock offense. "What do you have against Spiderman? You're only allowed to hate Spiderman 3. That's valid."

Amy simply held the blindfold up in warning. He stepped back instinctively with his hands up, but she tied the cloth over his eyes before he could move. He considered protesting against this whole situation. After all, there nothing Jake hated more than being powerless. His entire childhood, he had felt completely out of control, which he believed was most of the reason he had become a detective. This mission was what he had worked for his whole life: a chance to make a difference. He decided he couldn't give it up yet.

Amy grabbed him by the arm and dragged him forward. He felt like he was practically being paraded out in a hallway, but it wasn't like he could confirm by looking around. Besides, he was in a weird enough mood himself anyway. After some mental deliberation, he ended up halfway between scolding Amy for blindfolding him in the first place and asking her if she liked what she saw. For once, Jake employed some kind of mental filter and decided to say neither. 

"All you have to do is stand for 30 seconds," Amy spoke behind him, causing Jake to jump slightly.

He almost laughed but held it back when she made no indication that her words were a joke.

"Easy peasy."

As soon as he was ready to welcome back the confident and cocky Jake, a blow to his side knocked him onto the ground. He took as just a failed joke, but the minute he started to get back up, a shoe landed in his side. The vicious attacks didn't stop from there, only becoming more and more frequent. Each time he attempted to sit up, even a little bit, he doubled over in pain again.

His heart began to beat in his ears. This wasn't how he wanted to die. He had never had a relationship that lasted longer than a year, told his friends truly how much he cared for them, or fought terrorists at Nakatomi Plaza. Perhaps the last one was unrealistic, but he held out hope. 

It took him about five times of falling to try another approach. He placed his hands on either side of him, maintaining a firm grip on the ground even with the kicks.

"Guys, spare the face!" Jake shouted out. "Come on. What if I get a date tonight? It'll be all your fault if she makes me pay the bill."

His words didn't make the whole onslaught stop, but it did give him a little window. He boosted himself onto his feet, feeling like he was in gym class and had just done a burpee. Except for the fact that this was one was extremely painful and the first he had ever done. He started to count to thirty, but a single punch to the face caused him to lose his train of thought.

"Seriously guys? Have none of you ever been on a date? They don't like it when you show up all bruised."

Immediately after his words, a forceful strike landed straight on his mouth. Perhaps, he would have to learn to shut his mouth more often. Although he staggered back, he managed to stay on his feet. He held his hands up in front of whatever part of his body he thought was going to be targeted next. The only problem was that his vision was just complete darkness and the men seemed to aim for somewhere different than wherever he put his hands.

Eventually, he just settled for putting his hands by his sides and letting the attacks come at him. This whole process went on for a painfully long time. As his gasping breaths became farther and farther apart, Jake wondered if he actually knew how to count.

"We're done, we're done," Amy's voice echoed throughout the room.

Knowing the precision she showed while fighting, she had probably measured the time down to every last millisecond. Still, one final punch landed right in his stomach, causing him to double over.

"Not cool, man," Jake panted.

Just when he thought that was the end of his strenuous trials, Amy grabbed him by the arm and tugged him forward. At least, he would have some good stories for Charles to obsess over later. When he felt his shin hit something solid, he almost doubled over from pain again.

"You could've at least told me there were stairs. Jeez, it's like you want me dead," he protested.

"You know," Amy replied. "You're not too far off."

Once he reached the top of the stairs (or at least a level part of them), he sighed in relief. However, it was short lived. Her hands shoved him into a chair, which he was at least glad was between him and the ground. From there, he could feel firm clamps press into his legs. He was certain they would leave marks, but it was no worse than what had already happened.

"If you couldn't guess, this whole thing is about trust. On the side of the chair, there's a button. You can't miss it unless you're really stupid, in which case, I don't think you'd be a good fit here anyway. The button will bring you up, but, if you press it, you're out of this whole thing," Amy explained.

He took a second to process her words, "bring me up from what?"

Being dunked into freezing cold water was enough of response to him. Although he tried to fight his way to the surface, his legs being clamped to the chair made it just about impossible. A thousand (mostly useless) thoughts flashed through his head.

He thought about every time he went to the pool as a kid and would simply inch in to avoid the shock of jumping into a pool two degrees less than the temperature outside. He thought about every single birthday party he had ever had (including the one his dad had planned where they just spent ten hours at Target). He thought about how, if he died in action, he would never have another birthday party again. He thought about Charles, Gina, Terry, and even Captain Holt. He would never see them again if he didn't hold on.

The water seemed to overtake all his senses. His entire vision was just a blur as he desperately tried to blink the water out of his eyes. The only thing he could hear was the water roaring in his ears, getting louder every time he struggled. The only sensation on his skin was the numbing cold beating against it. Even when tried to keep his mouth closed, he found that the salty taste of the waves kept returning to it.

He could feel himself starting to lose a grip on reality. His vision began to fade, as he fought to stay conscious. Just as he decided he was losing the battle, he felt the chair begin to move upward. It took all his strength not to inhale too early and swallow a mouthful of water. When he finally came up to the surface, he took a deep, sputtering breath.

While he was still recovering, a pair of hands (which he assumed were Amy's) tore the blindfold off his face. He was a complete mess, and that was the nice way of putting it. He was coated in what he assumed was a mixture of water and sweat, with little streaks of red blood sliding off. On top of that, reddish marks were littered over his body that looked like the start of bruises.

Before Jake even had time to register the vast amount of people milling on the ground in front of him, Amy pulled his arm up and started yelling at them. He couldn't quite make out her exact words, the adrenaline still rushing through his ears, but he caught bits and pieces of it. Normally, Jake would love to hear anyone congratulating him and a whole crowd cheering for him, but he was too focused on the fact that he was actually alive.

Only thought passed through his head at that moment: he was in.


	2. Raise Hell

Jake groaned, blinking the light out of his eyes. His head buzzed like there was a bee inside of it, but he assumed it was just the effect of taking one too many punches. Every single one of his movements was groggy. Whether he was stretching or simply breathing, everything seemed to be in the slow motion. Eventually, he managed to force his eyes open and take a look around the room.

He found himself propped upright in a surprisingly comfortable and plush chair. He didn't know what he expected, but he assumed it would have a little less fabric and a little more nails. However, the dimly lit medicinal room gave off exactly the kind of vibe he would expect from a gang. Between the tattered beds, streaks of red across the wall, and mysterious posters plastered on just about every surface, it reminded Jake of a video game asylum. In such a distinct place, Jake figured that he would remember if he just strode in. At least being unconscious for a bit explained his raging headache.

He glanced over at the woman bandaging up his arms. Her expression was inscrutable, at least to Jake whose every emotion played out across his face like he was in an action movie. She pulled the cloth around his arm so tight he figured it would cut off his circulation. He opened his mouth to protest but shut it promptly. For once, he considered the first impression he would have on her given that it might jeopardize the mission if he got on her bad side. However, he decided there was nothing wrong with a little small talk.

"So, what's your name?" Jake started.

"Rosa," she responded, her voice surprisingly gruff. "Usually this talkative after getting beat up?"

Jake ignored the question, knowing that the answer would lead to criticism either way, "I mean, no offense, but how did you end up working here? You don't really seem like a people person...or a person."

"It was a punishment. I should be happy the boss didn't give me anything worse. Usually, you get fed alive to the dogs."

"Sounds...pleasant," Jake replied, shifting uncomfortably as Rosa grabbed his arm. "it doesn't seem like anyone actually knows this boss guy. Do you?"

After he finished his sentence, she clamped down harder on his arm. He pulled back reflexively, glaring at her like she just stomped on his puppy. He still found her hard to read, but the furrowing of her eyebrows and downturned lips suggested that she was angry. He just couldn't determine why. After all, all he did was ask an innocent enough question. There was no way she could figure out he was undercover just by looking at him, right?

"Of course I don't know him," Rosa practically snapped back at him, "but, just for a piece of advice, I would quit asking questions if I were you. You're at the bottom of the ladder. You'll get beat up for a good few years until you even hear his name."

She tied one more bandage on his arm (thankfully, less aggressive than the ones prior), before leaning back in her chair. She dug around him her pocket for a while, pulling out a strange metal object that Jake couldn't quite identify. However, her pointed glare clued him into the fact that she wasn't just relishing the awkward silence between them.

"You're done."

"I can go?" he confirmed.

He figured it didn't hurt in this kind of place. After all, any wrong step could probably cost him his life, or worse: more of his pride.

"That's what 'you're done' means, stupid," Rosa replied.

He jumped out of his spot, which turned out to be one of his more regrettable decisions. The minute he landed, a sharp pain shot through his legs. Somehow, it made its way up through his whole body, each step becoming more painful than the last. Eventually, he managed to stumble all the way to the open door.

Just a few inches from the hallway, Rosa's voice stopped him in his tracks, "one more thing."

"Yeah?" he spun around.

The simple action turned out to be one of the many painful mistakes he made in the last few minutes. Even the finger guns, which Jake usually considered the cherry on top of a perfect cake, hurt just about every part of his body. He didn't even know how that was possible.

She cleared his throat, "I would watch your back, Pierce. The people here will eat you alive faster than the dogs."

"Thanks for the advice, friend," he pointed another pair of finger guns at her. They hurt so bad, but he also decided they were completely worth the pain.

"We're not friends."

'Whatever you say, friend."

After a few moments of just staring at each other, Jake turned away. He found the whole task fruitless anyway as she never even appeared to blink, much less break eye contact. He gripped the door frame again, pushing his way out.

No matter which way he turned his head, the hallway appeared to continue infinitely. Even the one distinguishing factor in each, a fire extinguisher, was perfectly mirrored on each side. The tiles on the ground were spotless as if someone mopped them every few seconds. It was his worst nightmare: a perfectly organized area with nothing out of line. He figured this would be the time to boast about the merits of a pridefully disorganized life. After all, the fact these hallways were so pristine, he told himself, was the reason he couldn't find his way around.

Jake darted into a hallway at random, considering if he should leave a trail of breadcrumbs or something to find his way back. The only thing he had was a crumbled cracker in his pocket, so he decided to just cut his loses. As he continued to wander down the hallway, he got lost in his own thoughts. The further he traipsed along the expanse of tile, the further his mind wandered from his mission. That was until he collided into the one person that tethered him to it: Amy.

Any other day, he would have enough energy to keep himself upright and escape the awkward situation. Turned out that it was not his lucky day. Instead of saving himself, he toppled onto her, legs wobbling far too much to be able to get up. The more he tried to press himself up, the more he simply slumped against her.

Jake forced out a laugh, "ha! You fell for my master plan. That was completely on purpose and not because my legs don't work or anything. No. No way."

Although talking his way out of a problem was his MO, it simply left him leaning against Amy for a longer amount of time. When he looked up at her face, he swore he could see a flash of pity, but it was gone before he could even comment on it. 

"Get off, Pierce," she said.

With Amy's flat expression, he was surprised she didn't just let him drop to the floor earlier. Instead, she pushed on his shoulders, shoving him back up on his feet. It took most of Jake's willpower to stop himself from lurching forward every time he swayed slightly. He was surprisingly close to just denouncing gravity once and for all.

"Of course ma'am," he topped his reply with a mocking salute. "Too much? I think that was probably too much."

She rolled her eyes, "I think you know the answer to your question. Just come on. If you want any dinner I would recommend hustling up."

"That's just cruel. You know my legs are more broke than I am."

"First, your grammar is atrocious. How would you feel about lessons?" Jake shook his head, and she continued. "I thought you said your legs were perfectly fine."

"Wow, you got me. Can't believe you saw through my perfect lies," Jake replied.

With a gentle nudge from Amy, he managed to start moving across the hallway. She expected her to want to maintain the uncomfortable silence they were already deep in, but, to his surprise, she started talking. Her tone reminded him of old friends chatting, but he had to remind himself that they were far from it.

"Just a few simple tips," she said. "Don't make eye contact. Always walk like you know where you're going. Don't sit at any table except for mine unless you want to be beat up even more."

A huge smile lit of Jake's face, which was often a sign of disaster, "I'm surprised you didn't say the first rule of murder club is not to talk about murder club."

"Do you enjoy putting your life on the line for the sake of a joke?" Amy scoffed.

"Well, it would have to be a bad joke if I die because of it. Thankfully for you, I don't make any of those."

He was so busy talking and trying to avoid stumbling, that he hardly even noticed when Amy forked a sharp left. Loud chatter echoed through the hallway. Jake tried to trace where exactly it was coming from, but the cacophony was far too chaotic for him to even begin to tell. Jake continued to stagger along the hallway almost aimlessly, but Amy grabbed his shoulder and pulled him toward a nearby door.

The inside of the area was even wilder than what he had heard outside, which, until a few seconds ago, he didn't even think was possible. Tables in uniform lines filled the room, each with more carvings and writing on them than clean table space. Without all the criminals milling around it, the place would kind of remind him of an abandoned warehouse. The scratched metal walls and industrial lights that flickered every few seconds practically loomed over him. He followed Amy like a lost dog, taking her advice not to make eye contact to heart.

Eventually, the pair reached the counter, where a burly man dropped a pile of slop on their plates. Sure, he could identify the browning apple and carton of milk, but whatever the substance was puzzled him. It somewhat reminded him of oatmeal, but it reminded him much more of the inside of a slimy alien. He desperately hoped it was the former. He could only imagine Charles' horrified expression if he ever saw the gunk Jake was about to eat.

After a few steps, he found Amy. She hunched over the plate, but noticeably didn't touch a single bit of it. Only after he plopped down at an open seat did he realize the only other person at the table was Rosa. The same, emotionless Rosa who had bandaged him up just a few minutes ago.

"Jason, meet Rosa. I think the only thing you'll ever know about her is her name, so savor it while you can," Amy said.

"Well, joke's on you because I already know her name. Now I have to know something new," Jake pointed at Rosa who simply turned away.

"No way."

Amy butted into the silence, "Oh yeah, I forgot you're on doctor duty. How long until you're off?"

"Big man didn't say," she shrugged. "Probably until he gets merciful, so I'll be taking this job to my grave."

Jake practically perked up with interest. He wasn't sure if he was lying earlier about knowing the boss, but it was possible. He decided to investigate, as if he was going back to being a detective in an interrogation room.

"I thought you didn't know him," he said.

"Why do you wanna know so bad?" Rosa asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh, I just wanted to, you know, move up the ladder. Just the good ol' ladder of success," Jake floundered.

"Well, you could just wait your turn like the rest of us. Just a thought."

Amy cleared her throat, "Your first mission is right after this, if you want to move up. Simple threatening case. You just have to point a gun at her kid until she ends up blubbering on the floor. It's just procedure, really. All you have to do is stick to the books. That's actually my favorite part of the whole thing."

Jake was horrified that she had a favorite part of threatening to murder a child, even if it was something lame. She somehow talked about the whole situation as casually as she would last night's football game. It took him a few minutes to recover and get rid of the dumbfounded look on his face. Still, he couldn't bring himself to say anything, so Amy stepped in.

"I know the food is completely inedible, so want to get going?"

All Jake could muster was a nod. The two left the table, pacing to the back end of the room silently. Every time Jake wanted to say something to her, he just reminded himself how cold-hearted she must be. He figured it would be nothing but dangerous to open up to her or vice-versa. It was hard for Jake to keep his mouth shut for so long, but the image of him being violently murdered by an enraged Amy seemed to do the trick.

Before he even registered where they were going, Amy pushed open the door to another room. The high ceilings and painted lines reminded him of a parking garage, but something was off about it. First, no matter how much Jake scanned the area, he couldn't find an entrance. Instead, he only saw a narrow exit, with those spikes they have at rental car garages to stop customers from going to the wrong way. Second, every single car in the lot was the same, but it wasn't like Jake was complaining about that.

Each was sleek and black, reminding Jake of the kind of convertible a dad would wish for during a midlife crisis. He couldn't see through the car's windows, which he guessed was so they couldn't get arrested, but it only amped up the coolness of the car for him. He was only left to imagine the rocket blasters and ejectable seats he hoped the car was equipped with. Despite his vow of silence, he just couldn't stop himself from speaking.

"This is the coolest place ever," Jake practically radiated excitement. "I say this very very sparingly, but, right now, John McClane has nothing on me."

"Isn't that from that movie Die Hard? And isn't he the cop?"

Jake froze like a deer in headlights. Of course, his incessant Die Hard references would be the end of him in a place where every single person probably carried a gun on them. Still, if there was one way he wanted to go out, that would be it. Still, he wasn't exactly keen on getting a bullet in his brain, so he decided to try to talk his way out of the slip-up.

"Oh, uh, I meant his enemy. Yeah, his enemy. Hans Gruber is my favorite. He's just so cool and awesome. I mean who doesn't want to be him?" Jake scrambled for an explanation.

It physically pained him to say those words so much that he had to force an exaggerated smile onto his face. Otherwise, he would have probably winced enough to expose himself instantly. Thankfully, Amy didn't comment on his obvious lie. Instead, she turned away and traced her way over to the car door. Before Jake even spotted the keys in her hand, she unlocked the car and jumped into the car.

He took his time, observing the whole area once more with childlike wonder, before joining her on the passenger's side. She put the car in drive, jolting forward by slamming her foot on the pedal. Jake lurched back and held onto the edges of his seat for dear life. They barreled out of the garage, forking a sharp right and continuing along the road. He had no idea why she decided to accelerate so much, but he hoped it had something to do with being a criminal and not lack of common sense. Besides, that was Jake's thing, not hers.

Only when they continued to maintain their speed did Jake take his hands off the seat and glance out the window. The minute he saw a speed limit sign, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She was following the speed limit exactly, never even straying a single bit under or over. He only found it weird because they were already on their way to break about 15 different laws, and she decided to strictly adhere to just one of them. Perhaps she just didn't want to get pulled over, but he doubted one mile per hour over would kill her.

"You don't talk about yourself much, huh, Amy?" Jake pried.

She shook her head, "We're not on a first-name basis."

"Okay, _Santiago_. You don't talk about yourself a lot."

"It's in the job description," Amy responded simply. "You're gonna end up dead if you keep running your mouth."

"Or, they'll be charmed by my utter wit and overall amazingness."

She seemed not to even dignify that with a response, turning her eyes back to the road. They sped through the city, past the towering skyscrapers and bright lights. After living in New York for so long, it had hardly remained a marvel. The only surprising thing was the complete lack of traffic on the road they chose. Sure, it was 5:00 am, but this was supposed to be the city that never slept, right?

Thinking of sleep almost made his own eyes sink shut, but he decided that his concentration slipping could be deadly. So, he picked just about the only thing that could keep him awake: staring at Amy. It was hardly even a conscious thing. One minute he was focusing on the smell of urine in the streets, the next he was focusing on every single aspect of her that entranced him. He was sure he could go on endlessly and still have far more stuff to list.

"Why are you staring?" Amy asked.

Jake immediately shot his eyes over to the opposite window, pretending that nothing that even happened. Unfortunately, more than just his raging blush betrayed him. He had been in somewhat of a trance, hardly even registering he was looking straight at her. He wasn't even entirely sure how she noticed him in the first place, given that her eyes were fixed on the road in front of her.

"Jeez, woman, do you have a sixth sense?" the pitch of Jake's voice rose more than he would have liked it to.

"No, just basic perception. Something you clearly don't have," she replied.

"What's that supposed to mean? Should I be checking the air for drugs or something?"

"I guess you'll find out," Amy said, not even bothering to take her eyes off the road.

Jake paused, fixing her with a confused glance, "wow, you're more vague than a supervillain."

"That's not even a thing. It's vaguer. If you're trying to make an unflattering comparison, at least make it grammatically correct."

While Jake wouldn't dare to question her grammar, he did question how repulsed she seemed by the description. He figured she would take pride in being evil. After all, he imagined all gang members as suit-wearing, Italian idiots, constantly blackout drunk and hiding their feelings. However, Amy was none of the above. He would even venture to say that she was not the worst person he had ever met, which was more than he expected.

Jake almost gasped at the revelation he came to. Could this be the situation in the movies where his side thought they were the good guys, but they were really bad the whole time? He wouldn't normally believe cops were evil, but, given that his justification came from a movie, it was the same as a lot of his reasoning. He cut his train of thought off there before he started spiraling. 

"So," he blurted out. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Classified," she responded curtly.

"How did you end up working here?"

"Classified."

"Uh, okay. What's your favorite color?"

"Classified."

"Seriously? Your favorite color is classified? That's not even possible."

Jake swore he saw a flicker of a smile on her face, "if you have to know, it's green."

"Oooooo!" he teased her, like a kid watching a friend get dragged to the principle's office. "That's the color of jealousy. Are you jealous of someone, Santiago?"

Soon after his comment, Amy slammed on the brakes. Jake's head crashed back against his seat, the car screeching to a halt. He fixed her with a glare as if he had any power in the situation.

"Alright," she said while throwing open the car door. "Time to get out."

"You're really that mad?"

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, "no, we're actually here. It's not like the world revolves around you."

"No masks then?" he asked, deciding to ignore the obvious roast.

"We don't need them. This idiot doesn't even have security cameras, and tech got all the other cameras across the street to go dark."

For the first time since he arrived, it dawned on Jake how big the gang must really be. Sure, he saw the run-of-the-mill thugs roaming around the hallways, but there had to be many more people he had never even laid eyes on. Taking down this gang was proving to be harder than he suspected.

As Amy paced out in front of him, he followed behind timidly. With every step he took, it seemed as if he began to fidget more and breath heavier. His confident exterior began to crumble in the face of an actual crime. The fact that he was undercover didn't make it any easier for him to go against his growing moral compass.

"Do you know how to pick a lock?' Amy asked out of the blue.

"Yeah, no. Never had that much coordination. I can kick down a door, though."

"Even better."

He cracked his knuckles, tensing up as if this was a scene from a movie. He had been trained to look at the hinges on the door, which revealed that it opened in instead of out. Perfect. Perhaps, he wouldn't make a complete fool of himself around an attractive girl for once. After he found his balance, he aimed a forceful kick at the door. He felt the wood splinter a bit beneath him, but it didn't break down just yet. After a few more kicks, the door fell to the ground with a large thump.

Amy seemed unfazed, simply stepping over the door and into the unknown house. She reached into her pocket and shoved a gun into his hands. In his time being a cop, he had held plenty of guns, but this one felt cold and foreign. It was as if he could feel the soul of each person it had killed before, and it was only intended for killing. Sure, that was the purpose of any gun, but he rarely ever actually used it. This was a whole new sensation.

"Try anything and I snap your neck."

Of course, Amy's voice always brought him back to reality. In his opinion, there was nothing more grounding than being yelled at, which, fortunately (or rather, unfortunately), happened to him quite a bit.

"Sounds hot," he teased.

After Amy simply rolled her eyes, he continued, "but, seriously, why don't you hold the gun? I mean, you're probably more experienced in this whole...uh, child-killing thing."

"You're the one getting trained."

He considered protesting, but he figured it would hurt his chances to advance if he couldn't complete the first task. He opened his mouth for some kind of challenge but immediately shut it. They were already far too close to the door for him to say anything without sabotaging the whole mission.

Amy threw open the door, bursting her way in. It almost reminded him of a simple arrest, but there was something completely sinister about it that made Jake nauseous. The room they ended up in brought back some kind of vague nostalgia from his childhood. The faded, honey walls held a multitude of childhood photos, strewn around in weird angles. However, he didn't have time to focus on the room itself. Directly in the center, a woman with a child wrapped in her arms starred up at them from a threadbare couch.

With shaking hands, Jake raised his gun and pointed it at the pair, "nobody move!"

His shouting made him feel like a movie villain, which was entirely out of character for him. He had spent his life wanting to be the McClane, not the Gruber. He almost dropped his gun the moment he saw the child sitting in front of him. Her wide eyes and quivering bottom lip hardly allowed him a moment without guilt.

"Listen, no one has to get hurt," Amy started. "you know what you did wrong. All you have to do is return the classified files you stole. Then, you won't have to watch your kid die."

"You're bluffing. You wouldn't- you wouldn't just come into my house and shoot my child," The woman said.

Her stammering voice betrayed her lack of confidence in her words. Yet again, Jake almost faltered in his task. Everything in him was telling him to bolt, but he managed to stay in place. He had to remind himself that here, he couldn't be Jake, the fun-loving cop. He had to convince himself that he was Jason, a blood-loving criminal. He told himself that Jason's mom got killed by this lady in an attempt to shut his brain up. Of course, it didn't work in the slightest.

Jake clutched his gun a little tighter. He eased his finger onto the trigger, pressing down on it before he had time to regret his decision. He squeezed his eyes shut, almost jumping at the abrupt crack that it made. Thankfully, he had good aim, or he would likely never forgive himself. When he forced his eyes back open, a bullet had lodged itself in the wall next to the child.

The mother only pulled her child closer, a horrified look on her face. She glanced back and forth between the pair of them. Jake realized that never before had he felt like such a major asshole.

He stopped himself from choking out his words, "are you sure you want to risk it?"

"Okay, fine!" the woman said.

After those words, the next few minutes passed like a blur, with him only remembering small details. He remembered the woman gripping her child, knuckles almost turning white. He remembered Amy's flat face, undercut by only the smallest twinges of emotion. He wouldn't have even picked up on them if he wasn't a detective. He remembered turning his back on the mother and child as if nothing had happened, striding out nonchalantly. They were acting more like this had been a middle school break-up than a threatening situation.

His legs were walking as if on autopilot, mindlessly following behind Amy. If she hadn't been there, he would've likely kept gaping in the center of the house for an eternity. He hardly even registered his walk back to the car until he ended up in the passenger's seat. Yet again, the only thing that kept him grounded was clutching onto the leather of the seat.

Jake considered asking Amy how she got used to this whole thing, but he didn't want to blow his cover. He assumed, like in the movies, if he showed any hint of hesitation, he would be thrown to the wolves. He decided to play off his nervousness by saying the most in-character thing he could think of.

He lowered his voice, "so, uh, when can I get to the better cases."

"Slow down there. You're going to be on door duty for the next few weeks unless there's a special circumstance."

 _Great,_ Jake thought, _I go undercover and get stuck with the most boring job on Earth._ He decided against blurting that out, though, as it would most definitely blow his cover. Unfortunately, the prolonged silence just gave his thoughts more time to boil over in his brain. As they sped along the streets (again going no more than the speed limit), the gravity of what he just did weighed on him. He easily could've ruined someone's life and scarred a child forever with just a simple action.

He knew he couldn't dwell on it. He had to keep on reminding himself that it was for the case, it was all for the case. He knew this job would come with its own sacrifices and hardships when he signed up for it, yet he still couldn't shake his sinking feeling. He focused his eyes back on the road, hardly able to even glance over at Amy for the time being. All he knew was that he had to just keep chugging on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title credit goes to the song Raise Hell by Dorothy 
> 
> If you have anything to say, please leave a comment! I live and breathe them. 
> 
> Finally, I've been dropping little hints of,,,something in the text. If you're picking up on it, feel free to theorize! I won't confirm anything, though, mostly because sometimes I don't even know where this is going (even though I've planned out like fifteen chapters oof).


	3. Stay Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title credits to the song Stay Away by Felix Rabito. As always, enjoy!

Sure enough, Jake ended up posted outside a metal door like a scarecrow the next evening. While many of his questions for Amy, especially the movie-related ones, ended up unanswered, he at least gathered that he was standing out here because they didn't put any cameras in the front of their compound. It was a smart move, honestly. The building was supposed to be abandoned, so an active camera was sure to arise suspicion among cops. 

While he understood their justification, it didn't make his task any more bearable. The wind whipped his back, pushing up the light, grey windbreaker that the gang had given him. Clearly, keeping warm was not their biggest concern. He also couldn't fight off the grogginess threatening to overtake him. Amy had decided because of all the sleep he got yesterday (which Jake didn't really count, due to the fact he was unconscious), would suffice for the entire next day. As suspected, she was wrong. With every passing moment, he could feel his eyelids tugging shut.

Not to mention the fact that he was so bored out of his mind, he resorted to tapping his toe for entertainment. When that wore him out, he started counting the squirrels that crossed his vision. So far, he had managed to find one and a half. While his logical brain told him that half a squirrel couldn't exist, his 1:00 am brain told him that if it was dead and fell from a roof, it couldn't count as a whole squirrel. 

Despite how much he wanted to sleep, he didn't budge an inch from his post. He guessed Amy was bluffing, but she said she put a tracker in his food that would alert her if he moved. The mear superstition that she could have any degree of omnipotence was enough to freeze him in his spot. Besides, if he wanted to advance in the gang, he couldn't do it by messing everything up. 

A flicker of motion tore him from his thoughts. While he only caught it in his peripheral vision, something about the speed it was moving told Jake's brain he was in danger. He widened his stance, pulling his gun out from its holster. He spun around, coming face to face with the trespasser. 

"Don't shoot! I have Broadway tickets and I can't die before I see Hadestown!" The man in front of him protested. 

Jake narrowed his eyes, squinting over at the figure. There was something oddly familiar about his voice, but, out of context and in the dim light, he couldn't quite pin it down. As he stepped into the light with his hands above his head, Jake immediately recognized him.

"Charles? What the heck? Why are you here?" Jake asked his rapid-fire questions. "Also, the only reason you don't want me to shoot you is your Broadway tickets? Might want to rethink that, buddy."

"Jake! You're really Jaking my day. Get it? I know, it's not my best work, but I just missed you so much!" he said. 

"It's literally been one day, dude. I mean, I know you have attachment issues, but..." he trailed off. "What are you doing here? I mean, I'm not gonna shoot you, but someone else might. And this time it might not be in the butt."

"Wow, you really have no idea how much your flattery turns me on in a platonic way-"

"Come on, man, we've talked about this. That is not a normal thing to say to your best friend, even if you're not married," Jake said. 

"It's fine. The cameras across the street are out I have five minutes."

"That's not what worried me about. Anyway, what are you doing here? You're gonna blow my cover. If this is like some weird birthday surprise or something, I swear," Jake rambled.

"What the heck, Jake?" Charles threw down his hands. "Did you change your birthday without telling me? Not cool, man. Not cool."

"What? Charles, no. You can't change your birthday. That's not even a thing you can do, right? Because it would totally be cool to be born on a leap day."

Surprisingly, Charles brought the conversation back to focus, "We were hoping you would be here. We traced someone leaking information to the dark web from this compound. I have his IP address written down here."

Charles dug into his pocket. He then extended a gloved hand to slip him a crumpled piece of paper. Jake unfolded it gingerly only to see that it was written in Gina's signature scrawl. Sure, it was the handwriting she used when she really couldn't care less about what she was writing (which was all the time), but it spoke volumes to him. Somewhere behind the scenes, the whole squad still seemed to be thinking about him.

Jake's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "and you guys want me to bust someone? Doesn't that just scream cop?"

"Holt seems to think it could help," he replied. "You need to earn their trust fast, and proving your loyalty could be the way to do it. It's like digging to the inside of a stuffed hen brain. You can't see the impeccable taste of your personality without getting the sinews out of the way."

"Yup, there's the weird food reference. Not a Charles conversation without it," Jake glanced at the cameras across the street. "You should go now, okay? Hold down the fort for me. Don't let anyone take my crumbs. I'm saving them."

Jake found that his voice was surprisingly warm and gentle. Usually, he would load his exit line with teasing and what he considered witty banter. Yet, he guessed a genuine fear of dying made him far more agreeable. He watched as Charles turned his back, pacing back onto the street. He was likely going to go home and wrap his wife and kid in a big hug, as he always did. While Jake often thought it was too sentimental, all he wanted at that moment was to walk alongside Charles. He simply wanted Nikolaj to call to treat him like an uncle, Captain Holt a son, and Gina a brother. He wanted his family back.

Yet, when he rounded the corner, he realized he would just be going back to the same old situation. He doubted he would be able to see his friends for a very long time. He didn't like to dwell on it, but that time could easily be never knowing his luck. All it would take is one slip-up, one simple mistake, and he could have a bullet through his brain without ever even saying goodbye. Although Charles's actions at first seemed rash, awkward, and even impulsive, he couldn't deny that he was glad to see him. 

He spent the rest of his shift so deep in thought, that he hardly even noticed the passing time. It was as if everything around him was moving in slow motion. Every thump of his foot, every flicker of motion from an animal, and every gentle sway of the trees in the wind seemed to take forever. The only thing that brought him out of his haze was a persistent beeping. He raised his arm up, spotting the watch Amy handed him. It took him a moment to register, but he remembered her telling him that the beeping meant his shift was over. 

He turned on his heel and strode along the pristine hallways. Given what he just happened, he was surprisingly nonchalant. He walked with his shoulders relaxed and eyes fixed straight ahead like he owned the place. He eventually managed to stagger his way into the break room where Amy had instructed him to meet her. She leaned up against a wall, arms crossed like she was the coolest woman in the world, which, as far as Jake was concerned, she was. 

He shot forward, pulling a chair out from one of the beat-up tables. He sat on it backward, trying to channel his inner badass to compare with Amy. Unfortunately for him, that position only seemed to cause the crumpled paper in his pocket to stick out farther. After catching her eyes straying toward it, he shoved it back in, but both of them seemed to know it was too late. He feigned disinterest by keeping his eyes focused on the clock across the room.

"What's that?" She asked. 

Great. The single question he was trying to avoid just hit him in the face like a truck with no brakes on a wet highway. 

"It's my...social security number," he blurted. 

"You wrote that on a piece of paper? And you put it in your pocket?"

Her raised eyebrows spoke volumes. Although she made it more than clear she didn't believe him, he still tried to fumble for an explanation. 

"I'm forgetful," he said dismissively. "Can I finally go to sleep now? My eyes are about to fall off my face."

Amy sighed, "here's the thing. Nobody trusts you yet, so you're going to have to stay in my room. Believe me, I don't like it either."

He glanced up at her like she had just told a six-year-old him that his dad would abandon him. Having to be around an eagle-eyed gang member could majorly blow his cover. Jake was often not one for being discrete, so he almost cursed that this case would take far more tact than he anticipated.

"Really?" he groaned, vocalizing his thoughts. 

"Do you have a problem with that?" she asked teasingly. 

He swore that she was flirting with him but soon pushed the thought out of his mind. Given that it was completely unrealistic that would ever happen, he was probably just imaging it. Just because he was attracted to her didn't mean the feeling was reciprocated. He thought back to Jenny Gildenhorn, but he had to dispel those thoughts too. Repression was the key to living happily for so long. 

He realized that he had been silent, with his mouth hanging open, far too long for it to be classified as normal human behavior. He scrambled to respond, stumbling on each word.

"No-no way. I love sharing rooms with random, murderous women. Favorite pastime, honestly."

The only response Amy dignified that with was a quick, yet exaggerated, eye roll. From there, she pushed off of the wall, striding into the doorframe before Jake could even begin to follow her. She practically bolted down the wide expanse of the hallway, leaving Jake to, yet again, scramble after her. He didn't want to sound like a tired cliche, but he would venture to say the silence was deafening. Perhaps it was the pounding headache thumping in the back of his head, but he swore that small-talk was the only thing keeping him sane.

Somehow, he both felt like he was falling through a pool of maple syrup and sprinting at the same time. Either way, despite his sagging limbs, he managed to reach the door fairly quickly. The bedroom was so dimly lit, he had to squint to even take a step forward. He could hardly see the bed in the corner of the room, but he tried to stagger over to it anyway. However, the stinging pain in his leg informed him that he wasn't successful. He almost kicked over the dresser he ran into in retaliation, but he figured it would do absolutely nothing to help him. Instead, he collapsed on the bed, forcing his eyes open. 

If he wasn't neck-deep in his mission, he would be out like a light within seconds. At home, he spent just as much time sleeping as he did watching movies or eating junk food. Needless to say, it was a lot. However, he had to make a concerted effort to fight his drooping eyes and body. 

His whole situation became even worse when he had to watch Amy plop onto her bed and close her eyes just like he wanted to. It wasn't like he had spent years getting to know her, but the action didn't seem very in character for her. With her organized personality, he expected her to have an entire bedtime routine before finally drifting off. He couldn't help but wonder when the last time she got a full night of sleep was. 

After he began to hear her gentle breaths evening out, he pushed up from the bed, swinging his legs over the side. He winced at the creaking it made, but it didn't seem to cause Amy to stir. Once he tested the boundaries of how loud a noise he could make without waking her up, he began to pace across the room. Unsurprisingly, his sleep-deprived mind couldn't dwell on anything useful. The only thing he could really focus on was how dirty his day-old clothes must have been, but he didn't exactly have time to fumble through the dark and look for anything new. 

Only when he entered the abrasively bright hallway did he put thought into where exactly he was going. After all, he couldn't exactly ask someone where the computers were without far too many unwanted follow-up questions. Besides, he doubted the people wandering around the hallway in the early hours of the morning were the people he wanted to question anyway. 

He continued to amble along the hallway, eyes darting around to make sure no one followed him. They would be lead on a wild goose chase anyway, but he didn't exactly want to be reported to any higher-ups. After a few minutes of wandering, he stumbled upon an open door. He desperately prayed it wasn't a torture dungeon or, worse, an empty room. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep staring at the mind-numbing white around him. 

Thankfully, the scattered chairs and empty cups of coffee strewn about suggest he found a break room. He practically surged over to the coffee machine, his desire to stay awake overcoming any thoughts of remaining quiet. The seconds he had to wait for the coffee were agonizing. His throbbing headache only made his already established impatience worse. Every single moment he was tempted to slump against the counter and rest there until someone found him. 

Right when he was about to succumb to sleep, the coffee maker finished with a cheery beep. He snatched up the cup greedily, letting the warmth spread through his fingers. He chugged the coffee like it was his lifeline. He couldn't quite bring himself to care that every sip of the scalding liquid burned his tongue. 

He expected the coffee to sharpen his brain, but, if anything, it just caused him to settle into a dull haze. He could have been wandering forever as far as he could tell. It almost reminded him of the last time he had gotten completely and utterly wasted. Thankfully, there were no sparklers around, or this place was going to turn out much more like an ill-fated, Hawaiian-themed party than he'd like. 

If he thought the time before he reached his destination was a haze, his next actions were like trying to see in the middle of a tornado. He could only remember vague details: a room full of computers, a flash drive wedged between a cabinet and the wall, a small piece of laminated paper listing the shared username and password for each computer. He didn't expect a gang to be so organized or so loose with their information. Yet, the key to a problem he hadn't even thought about sat right in front of his face. He almost expected a cheesy TV host to jump out and say he was on a prank show. 

However, the room remained just as eerily quiet as it was before. A mix of adrenaline and caffeine, it seemed, powered him through the task of opening and checking each computer. He hardly even processed the right IP address when he found it, having to compare it to the sheet at least five times before he could trust his discovery. Once his sleep-deprived brain finally agreed the numbers weren't going to change, his shoulders slumped with relief. 

From there, it was only a matter of deciding what to do now that he found his MacGuffin of sorts. Charles didn't exactly leave him an instruction manual. However, one thing he was certain of was the fact that leaving all the information right where he found him couldn't do him any good. After a few moments of absentminded staring, he doubled back to the grimy cabinet he saw when he entered. Leaning over it with a grimace, he yanked out the flash drive stuck against the wall. 

He jammed the flash drive into the USB port, thankful that it actually went in on his first try. Without even checking if all the information was useful, he copied the files onto his flash drive, counting down every single second. The bar that showed his progress seemed to move at a teasingly slow pace, but, every time he considered closing out and simply taking the loss, he remembered this could be a matter of life or death. That shut his impatient brain up pretty quickly. 

If Jake didn't know any better, he would say it took less time for the Earth to crash into the sun than it did for him to find his way back to his room. Every one of his motions was exaggerated and sluggish. Unfortunately, the minute he reached the room, he couldn't just throw his arms up and crash into everything on the way to the bed. Wincing at the sudden change of light, he creaked open the door and slipped inside. 

He felt like he was sitting in the center of a scale between complete exhaustion and hyperactivity. Although with each movement his head buzzed, the minute he closed his eyes, he simply couldn't stop thinking. He wouldn't even label most of his thoughts as conventionally useful. That was, unless, there was a huge market for Die Hard themed breakfast cereal or yet another Shrek movie. 

Yet, only when his thoughts shifted to his family at the 99 did he feel himself settle into relaxation. He knew he had to complete his mission, if not for himself so that he could make it back alive for them. Oddly comforted by his realization, he felt himself drift off into a restful sleep. 

________

It certainly didn't take him as long to awaken from his sleep as it did for him to ease into it. His eyes flew open as he sputtered, glancing around almost widely. Recognizing a strange, cold feeling on his face, he brought a sleeved arm up to his forehead. After dragging the rough cotton over his face and watching water pool all over the sheets, he managed to piece together what had happened. Of course, it helped his deductive abilities that Amy stood over his bed with an empty cup in hand.

"What was that for?" he said with the same tone as a child whose candybar was stolen. 

A small smirk played across her lips, "Couldn't have you getting too comfortable."

"Thankfully for you, I wasn't comfortable at all. This bed was like a rock. I spent the whole night tossing and turning like I was on a sugar high. Yes, I have experience. No further questions."

Of course, just like everything else he said in the compound, he found that most of the words that slipped out of his mouth were lies. He simply wanted to explain all the motion she might have heard as well as the defined bags under his eyes before she started jumping to conclusions. Amy was sharp, arguably moreso than any of the detectives he had ever worked with. She was nothing like the brutish man he expected to be working with, so he had to stay on his toes. Lost in thought, he hardly noticed Amy picking up a tattered bundle until she launched it through the air.

He hardly reacted in time, undeniably groggy, but he managed to catch the parcel against his chest with a small thump. Furrowing his eyebrows, he pulled open the pouch and started digging around through its contents. His fingers brushed against a few pieces of course fabric, which he assumed were either his clothes or a literal potato sack. At this point, there wouldn't be that much of a difference. He assumed either his confusion or mild disgust radiated off of him given the promptness with which Amy responded. 

"That's your change of clothes," Amy looked him up and down, nose wrinkling. "I'm pretty sure you need it. In case it wasn't clear, please change in the bathroom. I really don't want to see it."

Still swiping stray water droplets off his soaked clothes, he pushed himself off the bed. He had only really seen the room when it was cloaked in darkness, leading to a certain disorientating factor when he looked around it again in the blinding daylight. The whole area was surprisingly normal, resembling a weathered college dorm. He honestly wasn't sure what his expectations were coming into the situation, but they were certainly all subverted. At least, there were significantly fewer gory booby traps and spikes on the bed than he had anticipated. 

Jake padded across the room, concentrating all his effort into each step. He hadn't felt so weighed down since his last department mandated training session. He reached the bathroom, avoiding the mirror like a self-conscious vampire. He absentmindedly dragged off his damp clothes, kicking them into a small pile in the corner. He could practically feel the dirt and grime clinging onto his body. Yet, since a shower was nowhere in sight, he had to settle for simply slipping on the new pair of clothes. They felt foreign and scratchy, like a wool suit on a humid day. 

An insatiable urge to cleanse himself began to plague his mind. However, usually, the weekends he remembered most fondly were those he lounged all day in yesterday's clothes. The conclusion was painfully obvious: he didn't simply feel physical dirty, but mental blood lingered on his hands. A lifetime of repression taught him that action was the best way to push such intrusive thoughts out of his mind 

He spotted a toothbrushed with tousled bristles and capped deodorant, which he desperately hoped weren't already used. Squeezing a glob of toothpaste onto the toothbrush, he began to brush his teeth while throwing on an ungodly amount of deodorant. Then, he began to comb his hands through his hair, trying to tame his curls into something slightly presentable. Eventually, despite his mangled and exhausted appearance, he simply gave up, trailing his way back into the bedroom. 

He collapsedback on the bed with a breathy groan as he trained his eyes upon the ceiling. He hardly let a moment pass before he developed an urge to break the isolating silence. 

"Why am I under the impression you don't like me?" Jake asked. 

"Because I don't."

"Wow, that's cold, Santiago. After you opened up to me about your favorite color and everything?"

She groaned. "I don't understand why you won't just listen to what I'm saying."

"Hey, a little bit of risk-taking never killed anyone."

"Yes, it has. It's killed multiple people here. I don't know about you, but it wouldn't look good on my evaluation if you died."

He chuckled. "Wow, that's flattering."

A lull of silence followed his words as Amy's gaze practically pierced into him. Although neither of them spoke a single word, Jake felt as if they were exchanging entire paragraphs between them. Finally, Amy cleared her throat, speaking as she turned her back and strode toward the door. 

"We're going to breakfast."

Jake scrambled off the bed, his feet hardly landing on the ground before he forced himself to leap after her. She walked at the pace of a businesswoman late for an important meeting. By the time Jake caught up with her with a bit of jogging, the pair had already reached the dining hall. Since his watch had been confiscated, he could only guess what time it was. However, based on the absence of bodies and the dim light that slipped in through the windows, he assumed it was early. He almost stifled a groan. Of course, Amy would be the one to wake up in obscene hours of the morning rather than getting a wink more of sleep. 

He trudged up to the counter, like a zombie in a crappy 80s movie. He grabbed a tray and set it down on the counter. A burly man scooped a chunk of dried eggs onto his plate, followed by a few pieces of crumbling bacon. As soon as the green banana and carton of milk hit his plate, he turned away with a grimace. 

After raking over the barren area, it wasn't hard to spot Amy and Rosa at the same table he remembered from yesterday. He quickly wondered if each group of people had their own established tables like a high school lunchroom. He guessed, if they did, the distinctions and squabbles between the different tables would be much more violent. He made a quick mental note to never just choose a table at random.

He plopped down onto the chilled metal. His shoulders slumped over as he had to fight his eyes slipping shut. He felt like the moment his eyelids sunk, he would pass out for hours. 

"Wow, you look like shit," Rosa said bluntly.

Jake groaned. "You don't even have to remind me. I'm so, _so_ aware."

Extended silence followed the moment after Jake stopped speaking. He could only think to poke at his eggs while glancing up every so often to make sure nothing in his environment changed. He sighed, realizing he couldn't put up with the agonizing silence longer. 

"Jeez, how do you two get to know each other if you don't even talk?"

"We don't," Amy responded gruffly. 

In one of his quick glances, he spotted a man in a suit striding toward the group. He wore thick sunglasses, which signified to Jake he was either blind or a complete douche. He towered over the entire area, his bulky shoulders and wide frame hardly squeezing between the tables. For fleeting moment, Jake considered the fact the man could crush him between his fingers if he tried. He translated his growing apprehension into a bit of light teasing.

"Well, Santiago, looks like someone wants to talk to you."

As soon as the two women looked up, their eyes widened like a grizzly bear was a few meters from their faces rather than just another gang member. Immediately, they averted their eyes. Although Rosa's immediate reaction was to freeze, Amy fidgeting endlessly with her fork, digging it into her eggs almost violently. 

"Don't mess with him, and look away," Rosa suggested in a surprisingly quiet tone. "He's one of the boss' men."

He briefly noted that, to his surprise, the two women completely avoided eye contact with the man. The two people who were shaping up to be the most badass women he'd ever met somehow reminded him more of children on their first day of Kindergarten. All evidence pointed to the fact he should be scared. He _really_ should. Yet, the adrenaline pumping through his veins made him feel more exhilarated than fearful. Perhaps it was a death wish or perhaps it was bravery, but he maintained eye contact with the menacing man. 

When the man reached their table, he grunted out a just a couple words that were enough to make Jake freeze in his spot. 

"Jason Pierce?"

Jake wiped the dumbstruck look off his face, fumbling for a response that would maintain his already faltering dignity.

"That's my name don't wear it out," he came up with. 

His words almost resonated with the weight he intended, but, unfortunately, he was too excited about sounding like an action hero to contain himself. He tried to bite his tongue but eventually succumbed. 

"Wow, I've always wanted to say that."

The man drew his lips into a tight line with an unchanging expression. Even if he wasn't wearing sunglasses, his face would be hard to read, but, without his eyes, it was practically impossible.

"You're coming with me. El Jefe wants to see you."

"High school Spanish come back to me," Jake begged under his breath. 

Amy translated quietly, "the boss."

He felt as if his feet were glued to the floor, the gravity of the situation finally seeming to sink in to his body. However, the more he resisted coming with the man, the more suspicious he would certainly seem. Putting on his best Pokerface, he placed his hands against the chilled metal of the bench. He used his hands to stabilize himself and force his legs up off the seat. Looking on the bright side (which was hard for him at the given moment), he was at least happy his hands weren't shaking profusely. If his hands shook as much as his mental state suggested they would, he would be beyond embarrassed in such a tough atmosphere. 

He couldn't even brave himself to brave a glance back at Amy and Rosa. He simply marched along the white hallways as if he was a prisoner on death row. At this point, he might as well have been. He could die. Perhaps this was the first time it hit him, but he could actually die incredibly easily. If he made just one wrong move, he could be killed, be tortured, or even made to hurt the ones he loved. All he would have to show for it was maybe a half-hearted newspaper article about his and a posthumous medal of valor.

He almost let an animalistic fight or flight response take over his body. His body begged him to dart through the nearest hallway or lash out the man hovering far too close behind him. At just the moment he seriously considered reacting, he reached a towering, wooden door. If doors could be intimidating, this would be the epitome. However, he hardly had time to take in the intricate carved designed on it before the man yanked it open. Even with all his muscles, the groan of effort he released informed Jake that it must have been heavy. He would have to think about that if he ever needed to make a quick escape with his noodle arms. 

Before he could ponder what an embarrassing scene that would be, the guard shoved him inside. He hardly staggered to his feet before falling flat on his face. When he eventually maintained his balance with a few heaving breaths, he glanced around the ornate area. 

Bookshelves, filled with what appeared to be a million colors, lined the shelves. Jake was honestly surprised that a gang leader would have such an extensive collection. As soon as he arrived at this place, every stereotype he had of these people simply being dumb brutes was challenged. His eyes wandered to the plush rug beneath him. Adorning the rug was an artistic scene he simply didn't have the time to analyze. Although, he was sure that Amy would rave about the meaning of the decorations for hours, he focused his gaze on the man sitting at the desk. 

"I'm going to assume you're the boss man everyone's so scared of. I'm not even gonna try the Spanish. I'll for sure butcher it, and no one wants that."

The boss raised his eyebrows, "and you chose to join this mob?"

"I didn't think I'd ever have to talk to the head honcho," he explained smoothly. "I've heard you're a hard man to reach."

"Let's cut the crap," the boss grunted out abruptly. 

For a moment, Jake's heart sake in his chest. His sinking feeling made it painfully clear to him that it could've been any number of small slip-ups that the man he discovered. He could have seen him slip his NYPD badge into the hand of one of his supervisors. Perhaps, the security cameras caught him talking to Charles even though he had sworn they were all disabled. His mind flooded with panicked thoughts. 

The boss flipped around a sleek laptop so that Jake could see the screen. He leaned over and pressed the spacebar, launching the video pulled up on the screen into action. Although the footage was grainy at best, Jake could make out the figure wandering across the screen as himself. He hardly even needed to train his eyes on the screen to recognize what was happening. After all, memories of last night were all that consumed his mind. Yet, the fact that the boss had clear evidence of him downloading information onto the flash drive. 

"Wat exactly were you doing?"

"One of your men has been spilling information about your mob on the internet," Jake blurted before he could stop himself. 

"Why should I believe you? You just got here."

"Well, uh, I didn't exactly check," Jake's fingered at the flash drive buried deep in his pocket before pulling it out. "But it should all be right on here."

He extended his open palm. The boss snatched up the flash drive greedily and squinted at it. 

"So, you're willing to betray one of your fellow men for this...hunch?"

"It's more than a hunch. An NYPD officer tried to come into the compound while I was on door duty. I held a gun up to his head and he spilled the IP address of the computer that sent out the information."

Only silence followed. He doubted with his shaking voice and hasty explanation that his lie would be very successful. After all, why would the boss even believe him ver whatever dude had spilled the information in the first place. 

"I like you, kid," The boss finally spoke. "You remind me of me. You go around the rules, you do what's best for the family, and you don't care what kind of trouble it could get you in. Of course, it goes without saying that if you're a spy, I'll rip off your tongue. But, I think we have a lot in common, and, since you're so new, I'd like to make you an offer."

"Of course, Sir, I'm totally totally not a spy," Jake insisted. 

To his surprise, apparently, he was a good enough liar for the boss to trust him. That or he saw right through him and whatever proposition he was about to make was just a ploy to get him close and kill him. Either way, it didn't seem like he would have any other chance to get closer to the boss than hee was right now.

"I want to assist in your training. Of course, Santiago will still show you the ropes, but we can do a bit of after-hours training if you know what I mean. I'll look this over," he said, glancing down at the flashdrive. "Let's just hope for both our sakes this isn't a scam. I would really hate to kill another trainee, but I think we can fast-track your training. I haven't seen a guy like you in a while."

His mind chanted that this step would be important for the case, but, like any human being interested in self-preservation, there were some glaring problems with the plan. Of course, there was the inevitable fear of death that practically made his heart leap out of his chest. He took a deep breath. This was his job; he wanted to protect the city, and, in his mind, there was only one way to do it. He had to be willing to die if it meant saving at least one person from the violence and brutality of this mob. He made up his mind quicker than even his body could react. 

He lurched forward and extended a hand, shaking the boss' counterpart firmly. 

"I'm going to give you a week to get to know our gang and talk to my advisors about what you've done. After that, meet me here at 7:00 pm every other day. We'll see if you'll be walking into your death, or the best opportunity of your life."

The boss' threat hung in the air as the guard escorted him out of the room and into the blinding hallway.

* * *


	4. Working for the Weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title for the chapter title to the song Working for the Weekend by Loverboy (if you haven't noticed, the song titles are kind of creating a playlist for the story. I might post one on Spotify if anyone wants to listen.)
> 
> Other than that, sorry for the wait, but enjoy the chapter! Feel free to leave any feedback in the comments. I'd love to hear it <3

Jake's head spun as the guard herded him through the hallway. He could hardly stifle his reaction to the events that just took place, almost letting his internal excitement manifest in a smile across his face. However, one glance back at the guard's stoic and unwavering expression caused him to at least attempt to straighten his face. To him, the most important thing was to seem just as tough as anyone here. These men were practically sharks. One hint of blood in the water and they'd be all over him. 

He couldn't help but wonder if that was exactly what had just happened. The line between gullible and cunning was too blurred for him to be able to even tell the difference. The boss could easily have him wrapped right around his finger, keeping him right by his side like a pet on a leash. That, or, as he hoped, he could have genuinely made a break in the case. Of course, it didn't help that his brain was too cloudy to even register the events that transpired. Everything had gone too fast for him to weigh any of the risks, but he doubted that he would have even with all the time in the world. His impulsive nature told him that even a chance to move the case along seemed better to him than rotting away in a gang compound for the rest of his life. 

The main questions still stood: was the boss an idiot that actually trusted him? Or was he just keeping him under close scrutiny?

All signs pointed to the fact that he was being played. If he wasn't in the haze of the case, he would be quick to laugh at the naive officer who thought he could get close to a gang boss. He would label it as ridiculous during a lunch break and then brush it off forever. However, something about this situation was different. Perhaps he was just biased, but he felt his training would allow him to manipulate the people around him.

To test this theory, he decided to try to wheedle some information from the silent guard. 

"Not feeling very chatty, huh?" Jake tried his opening gambit. 

The man ignored him, continuing to march along like it was a funeral procession. With Jake's luck, it might as well have been. He had become so close to the higher-ups, to even make a little mistake now could easily be the end of him. He figured his words were somehow successful as the guard cleared his throat, but, as soon as he began to actually process the words, he realized they were unrelated.

The guard barked out his statement, "you'll be training tonight."

"I thought I got a week to prepare."

Jake hoped his wrinkled eyebrows wouldn't betray his confusion. He wanted to at least pretend like he had some level of confidence in his situation. 

"You're not even getting close to the boss yet," he scoffed. "He gave us the week to have you prepare. He has a lot of men around him. You'll be training with one of them."

This was only one of the puzzling developments he had to deal with, but this one was arguably the most serious. Not only did he have the risk of dealing with even more people who could expose him, he might not even get to the boss in the first place before getting beaten to a pulp. Nothing here seemed consistent enough for him to form a plan, though. The way things worked around the compound were just as complicated and twisting as the hallways. 

Clearly, he had bigger things to worry about, as, when he neared the end of the hallway, he spotted a familiar face. Amy stood with her arms crossed, glaring at him expectantly. It was as if he could feel his mental walls breaking down with each second she kept her gaze on him. She had a special way of seeing right through him and coercing information out of him that no one else did. To say that was inconvenient for the operation would be an understatement. 

She bit her tongue as the guard looked the pair over wordlessly. As he paced down the hallway, Amy glanced around to make sure no one was listening before she practically hissed out her words.

"Where the hell did they take you?"

"Getting defensive, are we?" he teased, trying to deflect the situation. "I guess I'd have to say that information's classified."

"Well, if you're so ready to make a bunch of jokes, I guess the jokes on you. If you won't spill, we're not making any small talk in the shredding room."

He groaned. "The shredding room? Come on. Yesterday we went out in the field and today we're in a stupid shredding room? What are we even shredding? My hopes and dreams?"

"We do what needs to be done, unless you want out, Pierce." Amy said. 

"By out, do you mean death? Fat chance."

"So, shredding it is then."

He swore an almost satisfied smirk settled across her face, signifying she either enjoyed being right or enjoyed Jake's suffering. Either way, Jake's subconscious didn't exactly paint a flattering image of her motives. Still, something about the way she turned and strode down the hall made him feel oddly comforted. 

He didn't want to sound like a creep. In fact, he actually took pride in fact that, unlike some of his fellow male officers, he wasn't a sexist pig. Yet, he couldn't keep his eyes off Amy. At least, he found some minuscule way to justify his constant staring that didn't make him seem like an apprehensible person. It wasn't like he was ogling at her like property, which would be absolutely disgusting. Instead, he took in the smaller details about her. 

He noticed the tightly drawn ponytail bobbing on her back with every step, showing the effort she took in making her appearance practical. He noticed her posture: her confidence that practically sent her gliding across the linoleum floors. He would love to have noticed her smile, or absolutely anything that signified she thought as much about Jake as he thought about her, but, even if she was looking, he was sure her face would betray no emotion. He supposed that was just the way their dynamic had to be. After all, when he finished the mission, it wasn't like he could spare her. That would get into levels of moral confusion he didn't even want to touch. So, for now, he decided it would be better not to get attached. 

Drifting off into his thoughts yet again, he hardly even noticed as Amy forked a sharp left into the room. He noted absentmindedly that a handwritten sign declared this was, in fact, the shredding room. As he walked in, he could only make a few consistent observations given how overwhelming the area was.

The entire room was more unorganized than his apartment, which was honestly saying something. He was surprised Amy, with all her meticulous and perfectionist habits, could even stand to be there for more than three seconds. Papers were strewn across the floor, smeared with an entire rainbow of ink to block out what he assumed was classified information. A single shredder was perched in the corner, looking more like a defunct statue than a functional machine.

Amy seemed completely unphased by the unruly appearance. He could only imagine how many monotonous hours she had spent here while working up the ladder just as he was now. She began to grab papers, forcing them down into the shredder and dumping the shreds into a nearby basket. Since he figured he got the gist without any instructions, he began to follow her example. After a few minutes of repeating the same task, he could no longer contain his words. 

"Really? You're actually giving me the silent treatment?" he protested. "I thought I'm not supposed to run my mouth."

Of course, she didn't respond or even open her mouth. If there was one thing Jake had learned about Amy so far, it was that she was stubborn beyond a shadow of a doubt. So, rather than pressing the point, he continued in his task. Although he pretended for a while he was doing something far more interesting than just shredding paper, that could only really entertain him for so long. From there, he started to think about what life would be like in the outside world.

The snow would start soon, covering all the crowded New York streets in a thin sheet of glowing white. Every other year, he would've hibernated with some snacks and a movie throughout his entire break from work. This year, though, if he even made it out in time to experience snow, he doubted he would be able to waste his life away in his apartment. With snow on his mind already, he was unsurprised that the little flecks of white paper in his hands reminded him of it. 

Given that Jake was a strong believer that the best thing to do with snow was throw it at people, that was exactly what he decided to do. He hurled a chunk of paper over his shoulder, watching as it nailed Amy directly in the face. Rather than actual reacting, she simply blew the shreds off her face with a small puff.

She sighed. "Look, if you're involved in something shady, I think I should be the one to know about it."

"Well, good thing I'm not involved in something shady, then. You're the one who has all the clearance or whatever. Shouldn't you know that yourself?"

"Yeah, well, it's just your third day. It's easy to rope people into things here when they don't know what's going on."

A pang of doubt flashed through his mind. He couldn't help but think that Amy's statement just confirmed his fear that the boss only wanted to keep an eye on him. Yet, he put on his best poker face, drawing his mouth into a tight line.

"Well, good thing I'm not _ropeable_. I'm like a wild cow." he paused, his grin faltering as he considered his words. "Nope. I'm going back on that one. That was not a good one."

When he finished his rambling, he noticed Amy turned away, wholeheartedly focused on the task in front of her. Jake really never considered the fact that shredding paper could take so much brainpower, but perhaps the way she was doing it, it would. The forcefulness she placed into each motion was enough to make even him feel intimidated, and she wasn't even holding a weapon

"Jeez, you don't have to shove papers in the shredder so hard," Jake said. "You're gonna shred your fingers off."

"At least it means they're all actually getting shredded, no thanks to you."

She talked over her shoulder, not even bothering to make eye contact with him.

"Sorry that I can't be a shredding master like you, Amy."

"Again, no first names," she reprimanded like an old librarian. "That way, you make it sound like we're friends."

"You're allowed to call me Jason all you want."

"Well, I have a feeling Jason's not your real name. I'm not stupid."

Jake dragged out his response in a way he was sure didn't make him seem innocent, "Whaaaat? No way...Jose. What makes you think that."

"You don't respond to it like a normal person is all I'm saying." her expression softened. "I wouldn't worry about it. Most of the newbies have code names. All I'm saying is you shouldn't get too attached to anyone. You can lose them real quick."

"Yeah, but what's the point of just working without talking about anything? There's no way you don't get bored."

"You seem to get far too incredibly bored all the time, but, yes. I'll admit that it is boring sometimes."

"All I'm saying is that there's an easy way to fix it. I promise, I'm not completely jokes," Jake said. "I'm just mostly jokes. Like a good 90%."

"So, you're saying you're using humor as your coping mechanism."

"My coping what now?" Jake shook his head, chuckling a bit. "Yeah, haha, no way."

"Whatever you say, Pierce." she turned around, a bemused smirk on her face.

So, somehow, Jake suffered through hours on end of the monotonous work. Lucikly, he never took the advice of one his disappointed teachers, who told him he was too dumb to be anything but a secretary and do this kind of work for the rest of his life. Of course, there was nothing dishonorable about it. He was just fairly certain the jobs would bore him to death before he could complete them. In fact, he was surprised he didn't pass out on the spot from all the monotonous work he had to do. 

At first, it was just the shredding, but, the moment he thought he would actually get some solace, the task switched to forging government paperwork. From there, it was scrawling endless signatures, and checking boxes on a towering pile of forms, and clacking out words on a computer until his hands and head ached without end.

Finally, every task Amy gave him to do was completed, and she fell silent. It wasn't like he wanted her to stop speaking or anything, but it certainly didn't bode well for him when she kept giving him tasks he hated. He glanced down at his issued watch, spotting a glowing 2:00 blinking back up at him. His stomach gave a discontented rumble, reminding him that he worked straight through lunch.

"Do you have any food?" Jake asked. "Boring work makes me snacky."

She rolled her eyes, digging into the satchel tied around her waist. From there, she forced a crumbling granola bar into his hands. He tore open the wrapper and began to munch on the dry bar. It dragged its way down his throat, causing him to almost cough it out or, worse, choke on it. However, he managed to swallow it, despite the sharp pain, to appease his grumbling stomach. 

"We have a break now. Fifteen minutes, so I'd make it count," Amy explained.

He plopped down onto a chair with a small groan, "is the whole schedule just inside your brain. Oh I got it! You're a robot."

"I'm just well-organized. Judging by your side of the room already, you're probably not."

"Hey. In my defense, I was up until 3:00 am."

She raised her eyebrows, "3:00? I thought you went to bed at 1:00?"

"Yeah..." he scrambled for an explanation. "Uh, I had trouble sleeping."

She clearly didn't buy into his hastily thought-out explanation, but her solution only seemed to be more of the agonizing silence she thrived in. The rest of the break continued in the same tone. Every so often, he glanced over at her, just waiting to see if she'd open her mouth and say something, but, every time, she remained silent. It was like a waiting game he'd never win. In fact, the only thing that even signified time was passing was the dwindling granola bar he forced down his throat. 

If he thought the break was excruciating, the work that followed passed even slower. The jobs he had to do themselves were more entertaining, but the fact Amy didn't open her mouth for even a second made it ten times worse. When the two polished a rack of guns until they were spotless, the only sound was the squeaking of the cloths. When they went to workout, Amy fled to the opposite side of the room and only her labored breaths reminded him he was still there. Even when they stood guard outside of the armory, she didn't say a single word. 

After the dinner that followed also simply consisted of silence and picking around his plate, Jake simply couldn't contain himself anymore. He could only glean so much entertainment from stabbing at his potatoes, and it wasn't like Rosa added anything to the conversation either. He somehow felt like, surrounded by people, he was in a solitary confinement level of boredom.

When the pair reached the bedroom, Jake plopped down onto his bed. He grabbed his legs and yanked them up onto the cushioned surface. From there, he crossed them before placing his hands against his knees as if he was meditating. 

"Can we please talk?" he asked. "You've said like two words to me in the past four hours and it's killing me. Very slowly, but it's killing me."

Amy sighed. "What did you even want to talk about?"

"Literally anything. You're the only person I've talked to in detail this whole time, and the only thing you actually talk about with excitement is binders. I can make conversation about a lot of random things, but binders is not one of them."

"But, there's so much to talk about."

"Yeah, not really. I used one binder throughout all of high school. Proud to say I haven't touched one since."

She released an exaggerated gasp. "You _monster_."

"Don't you ever talk about interesting stuff like Die Hard...or Transformers...or even just, like, cars?"

"What's with you and movies?"

"What? It's how I spend my Saturday nights...and my Sunday nights. Well, most of my nights actually," he replied. 

"The only thing I can remotely talk about is cars. My brothers never stopped fixing them when we were growing up. I'm not even sure if they were broken or not."

"I have a mustang," he offered, trying to spark the conversation. "It's super old, and it also doesn't turn on half the time, _and_ it smells like fish all the time, but I wouldn't trade it for the world."

Her nose wrinkled, "why wouldn't you just buy a new one?"

"Well, it has memories attached to it."

"What kind of memories?"

He hesitated, a few discordant sounds slipping through his mouth as his eyes widened. His mind drew a blank as if someone had power-sprayed all the lying ability out of it. Of course, he knew exactly why the car held its special significance, but almost all the details about the story would unwittingly reveal he was a cop. He glanced down at the time on his watch before jumping for a hasty excuse. 

"Oh daaaang. Look at the time. I gotta blast." Jake drew out his words as he scrambled to come up with it. 

"No, you don't. You have nowhere to go."

"Uh, yeah I do. Just check the schedule."

Of course, the time for his meeting was ingrained in his mind, but he had no idea if it was on whatever schedule Amy followed. After all, for all intents and purposes, he assumed these meetings were supposed to be under the radar. If they were broadcasted on some public calendar, who knew who would be monitoring his actions? Yet, the calendar brought a level of authority that Jake simply didn't have with Amy yet, so he relied on it to prove his point. He simply held his breath and crossed his fingers. 

Based on her baffled expression, he assumed his gambit paid off. Her lips drew together tightly as she glanced again and again at the screen as if it would somehow change its message.

She looked up. "Did you do this?" 

"No? Do you think I'd be able to change a schedule I've never even seen before?" 

"It's just...blocked off. I've never seen the schedule look like this before."

It was as if Jake watched Amy's whole world crumble down before his eyes. Knowing her adherence to the rules, he wouldn't be surprised if it actually was. 

Her eyes narrowed as if she was trying to squint away her confusion. "Only the admin has the power to change the events. I've never seen one change. Ever. How the hell did you do that?"

"Look, I really gotta blast," he inched toward the door.

"'Gotta blast'? Seriously, Pierce, where are you going?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

He channeled his inner asshole, smirking as he spun around and walked out. Surprisingly, Amy didn't lunge forward and try to stop him. He could only imagine her defeated expression as she simply let him stride out. Still, she wasn't the only one who was baffled with their surroundings. For Jake, the degree of independence they seemed to give him was a sudden jump from the armed escort only a few hours prior. He half expected a guard to jump out from a nearby corner, but none did. He supposed they simply expected everyone to be able to fend for themselves in here or just fall under the violent waves. 

Figuring, for once, that it would leave a bad impression for him to be late, he sped along the hallways. Desperately, he tried to remember where the office he had been taken to earlier was. He traced out the complex map in his mind, almost forking left and right at random. However, some deep, intrinsic instinct somehow told him he was going the right way. 

His shoulders slumped in relief as the familiar, regal doors became visible around the corner. He almost didn't know how exactly to enter. The ornate wood seemed far too intricate to just push himself into. Instead, he settled for tapping the surface gently, which appeared to be enough as the door creaked open. Somehow, though, no shadowy figure stood behind the door when Jake eased his way in and peeked around the corner. This lack of presence was all the permission he needed to traipse across the area, searching for some kind of guidance.

When he confirmed no one was hiding in the first office, he opened himself up for a more creative approach. After glancing around, he spotted another door, this one propped slightly ajar. He slipped through this one, surprisingly silent given his usually clumsy demeanor. He half expected to hear a gentle thump follow each of his footsteps, yet he was able to remain quiet. 

Behind the door was another, equally ornate office. A suited man sat at a desk, his hands folded over each other. 

"Welcome, Jason," he grunted, his eyes barely shifting up to glance at his face.

Something about the whole exchange seemed oddly eerie as if he was walking into a trap. It was like those scenes in the horror movies where the music simply drops out and you're left waiting for a chilling jumpscare. He decided a joke would at least slightly lighten the tense situation.

"I'm surprised you're not stroking a cat right now," Jake said. "I just thought that was the vibe you'd be going for, honestly."

"What?"

"Nevermind," he dismissed hastily. 

A beat passed between them. "I watched your fight with Santiago, during your initiation."

"Woah, that's some big brother type stuff. Not that I've ever read the book, but I saw a commercial about it," he rambled. 

"I'm surprised you beat her. She's one of the best fighters in this whole place."

"Guess that means _I'm_ the new best fighter."

"Not even close. You need a lot of work, Pierce. And that's an understatement."

The man planted his hands on the table and pushed up from his spot. The force he placed into the slap caused a loud echo to rumble through the room. With this action, Jake almost flinched back, yet he managed to hold strong to his position. The man simply pointed over at a musty mat behind him, so he took that as a cue to stagger over to it quite ungracefully. Some time into that experienced, he wished he had never gone over there at all. After all, he was sure that it would cause a lot less soreness and pain the next day.

The man spent hours practically beating him into a pulp. For every punch Jake aimed at the man's face, it seemed like he landed ten more blows all over Jake's body. Every time he fell onto the mat, the man yanked him up roughly and shoved him aside like roadkill. Every time he considered protesting about his aching bones or ringing skull, one glance at the man's expression sent him careening back into silence. This entire process dragged on and on until Jake wasn't even too sure he could keep moving his limbs.

Thankfully for him, the man finally dismissed him. Jake gripped at his bleeding nose, wiping away the red streaks that would surely fall onto the plush carpet beyond the mat. Although holding his hand to his nose was essential to stop the gushing blood, that didn't mean it was pleasant. Every arm movement caused pain to reverberate through his entire body. He was going to have to sleep this off. Hardcore. At least, to look on the bright side, that was exactly what he would get to do as long as he could drag himself through the hallway.

Holding back a groan, he lumbered out of the room and down the hallway. His brain still buzzed like he was at the height of his adrenaline, throwing punches like mad. The path now traced in his mind, Jake reached the shared bedroom with relative ease. When he propped open the door, he noticed that Amy was nowhere to be seen. Her bed was perfectly made with all her stuff tucked in its correct place, yet the person who presumably put it there was missing. 

His common sense screamed at him to observe the situation further and make sure there was no foul play. Yet, his tiredness begged him to just pass out immediately. He succumbed to his drooping limbs, crawling into bed. He curled up, drifting off to sleep within minutes.


	5. Little Pistol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title credits to the song "Little Pistol" by Mother Mother.

Jake groaned softly as he fought off the pain ringing through his head. For the past week, he endured nonstop training. It was no wonder he felt like roadkill every single time he woke up. As he stirred, he managed to force himself to look around the spinning room. However, as he tried to pull his arms forward to rub at his bleary eyes, a hard barrier blocked them from moving. Pulling a little faster, he found that, no matter how hard he tried, his arms wouldn't budge for their position behind his head. The strain of his arms pulled behind him forced a wince onto his face. He pivoted his head back the best he could without contorting himself into a pretzel position. The minute he saw what was behind him, his mouth opened into a gentle 'O' of realization.

"Really, Santiago? Handcuffs? That's some kinky shit. I knew you couldn't resist my masculine charms."

Despite his shallow and increasingly frantic breaths, he forced a cocky smirk across his face. 

"Cut the crap, Pierce. I don't even know why I keep calling you that, given that it's obviously not your name."

"So, let me get this straight. You handcuffed me to a bedpost so I can tell you my name?"

"No, it's so you can tell me whatever stuff you're getting involved in with the boss," she said. "It's not just dangerous for you. It could also cost me my life."

Jake paused. "I plead the fifth."

"This isn't a courtroom, come on. Let's try again. What exactly have you been doing?"

His mouth parted slightly as he fought to find a response. Rather than offering one, he instead decided to through out the only thing he really thought would catch her off guard. 

"Would it be weird to say I'm kind of turned on right now?" he asked. 

"Absolutely, but that doesn't mean I'm not still looking for an answer."

'Sorry, but my lips are sealed."

He attempted to mime zipping his lips shut and comically tossing away the key. However, the action only reminded him how painfully trapped his hands were. His rambling, or lack thereof, was really the only thing he had a grip on anymore. Surprisingly, he managed to not let any more words pass through his lips. He wished he had a better way to tell how long it had been rather than counting the seconds. His impatience caused him to lose track in that method far too quickly. Although it could have been any range of minutes, it was clearly enough for Amy to start tapping her foot expectantly.

Her hand trailed over to her back pocket as Jake eyed her movements. His eyes darted between her shifting hands and scrunched up face. Something seemed almost tense about the situation. If he could've, he would've bolted out of the room faster than he could recite Die Hard dialogue. 

When Jake sensed something was wrong, rarely did his first impressions deceive him. Perhaps it was simply his instincts as a cop or being an emotional crutch for his mom growing up, but he was always spot on with these kinds of things. His fight or flight response left him itching to simply leap out of bed. As it later turned out, his senses weren't heightened without good reason.

A striking black barrel emerged from the edge of her pocket. As she swung it forward, he soon realized that she pointed a gun directly at his forehead. He gulped. Well, that wasn't exactly what his affectionately named "Spidey Senses" told him to expect. 

"Woah, woah, woah." If Jake had any ability to throw up his hands, he absolutely would've. "You wouldn't shoot."

"You think I'm bluffing?"

He glanced over at the end of the gun warily. He could almost imagine a red laser extending from it and landing directly on his forehead. That mental imagery was all it took to strike him speechless. This was real. Her finger hovered over the trigger. With one gentle press, he could easily be dead. He doubted Amy would actually shoot him, but some part of his brain screamed that she might. After all, this was a gang, and people did crazy shit. The most concerning part was that, for the most part, they seemed to get away with it.

"I mean yeah, kinda. Why would you shoot me?"

"I have a good reason to. If you're putting me in danger, I could just get rid of the problem." She said.

"Wouldn't you just kicked out? For like...murder?"

"It wouldn't be that hard to walk away from this innocent. I could easily frame you for betrayal, if anyone even notices you're gone in the first place."

Jake held his breath as Amy approached, "so, what's it gonna be?"

Jake considered his options, briefly, of course, due to the looming threat of the gun in his face. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind faster than he could even process them. He really wanted to doubt Amy would shoot. He really did. Honestly, he hoped she wouldn't, but he still had to consider what her threats meant. They showed how far she was willing to go to find out what he was hiding, and, in an odd way, he admired that. Maybe, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to let her in on what was happening. It would be nice to have a confidante, even if the boss wouldn't approve.

"Fine, I'll tell you." he sighed. "But, can you please just take these handcuffs off? They're _way_ too tight and I honestly have super sensitive skin."

She drew closer, "Try to run and-"

"I die. Yeah, I get it."

She burrowed into her pocket yet again, this time producing a small silver key. It glinted in the light as if it were simply a piece of jewelry, and not something that could hypothetically decide the difference between life and death. As she slotted the key into the lock and slipped off the chocking metal, her touch was surprisingly delicate. She moved more like a ballerina than the dangerous assassin he knew she was.

After she freed his wrists, he leaned back onto a pillow and rubbed his forming rash gingerly. Amy trailed over to the bed beside Jake and plopped down. Amy starred over at Jake, tilting her head slightly as he launched into an explanation. Of course, he left out some of the more incriminating details, hoping that Amy wouldn't press the subject.

"Look," he said, "I don't know very much about this whole thing either. Hell, I didn't even know this whole thing was happening until the boss called me in last week. He told me he wanted to fast-track my training or some shit. All I know is that I've been getting my ass beat every day for the past week and I haven't even talked to the boss since he told me I was practically the best thing since sliced bread. Honestly, I'm starting to doubt he even wants to help me. What if this is all just a ploy to sell my beautiful body in the street?"

She rolled her eyes at his last comment, yet, their wideness conveyed a level of understanding that he had never seen from her before. 

"Oh," she almost whispered. "You got in deep."

"You don't sound surprised."

"Because I'm not. I've seen this happen before."

"It doesn't seem like your next words are going to be that I should get out of there and that this boss guy is dangerous."

She drew in a sharp breath. "Imagine it like a storm, and you're in the eye of it. That's where you're safe."

"So, Ms. "you're going to get everyone killed" is condoning my plan to get everyone killed?" he asked.

"Begrudgingly, yes."

A few moments of silence passed between them. Their conversations were erratic, yet strangely consistent, like the ebb and flow of the tides. He supposed he should be thankful for such a varied dynamic. If she tied him up and coerced information out of him every single conversation, he'd never survive this place. After a few more moments of silence, Amy planted her arms beside her and pushed off the bed. 

"You ready for breakfast?" she asked. 

"What, you're not going to handcuff me again and drag me over?"

"Well, if I did, you'd just stink up the whole place. I'd recommend some deodorant first."

His face flushed slightly, but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips reminded him she clearly didn't mean it. The pangs of embarrassment in his chest subsided as quickly as they came. He sprang out of bed and advanced toward the bathroom. With his lumbering step, he felt more like a dazed bear than a presentable human being. Yet, after raking a comb through his curls, slathering on deodorant, and brushing his teeth, he at least felt clean enough to go out into public. Sure, he was a mess, but by no means was it the most unhygienic he had ever been.

When he walked back out, Amy sat with her legs crossed on the bed, staring at the opposite wall. 

"Ready?" he asked. 

While he expected her to jump out of her daze, she instead calmly turned her head toward him as if his voice was exactly what she'd been waiting for. Although she didn't respond, the fact that she stood up and practically bolted out of the room made her intentions more than clear. Jake scrambled to catch up with her swift pace, trudging down the path that was becoming all too familiar to him. Soon, the distinct doors of the dining hall came into his view. 

He followed Amy up to the counter, wrinkling his nose as the server chucked various clumps of slop onto his plate. Among the alien-looking substances, he could make out some dry eggs and perhaps a shriveled potato. Other than that, nothing else resembled food he had ever seen before, even though he would consider himself a connoisseur of processed food and chemicals. He wouldn't have been surprised if the cook informed him half of the ingredients came from another planet, or at least somewhere as remote as the arctic tundra.

Lost in his thoughts, he spun around, running face-first into another guy. His hand shot toward his milk carton, narrowly stopping it from leaping off the tray. However, he had bigger problems. Although he rebounded off the large man without much problem and he was more than happy to continue on his way, the brute's pissed-off scowl informed him he wouldn't get off so easy. The words tumbled out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, man..."

One moment of hesitation was all it took to screw over his respectable words. As he glanced up the man, he couldn't help but noticed how utterly _enormous_ he was. It wasn't like his towering size made him unfit by any means. In fact, his pectoral muscles practically burst through his taut shirt. Given that he was so used to slipping out jokes without consequence, this fact only become the fodder for his misplaced cannon of a mouth.

"...boobs. Sorry, man boobs." he finished unceremoniously.

The man's eyes narrowed. His eyebrows drew in close to each other. He looked almost like one of those cartoon bulls, practically snorting smoke out of his nose as he reared back. Given that this guy could crush him in his fingers like he was a fly, Jake quickly mustered some kind of explanation for his impulsive words.

"That's not what I meant to say. I meant to- Did you know girls have boobs? Girls? For sure, girls? and not guys? I was just," Jake's voice shifted into a macho persona he hoped would impress him, "thinking about all the hot girls I was gonna bone and got distracted."

The man paused, "are you...gay?"

Jake's voice shifted back to its normal intonation, "No, I'm not. But if you're suggesting you'd beat me up for being gay, come on, dude. It's 2020. Get with the times."

"Not for being gay. For being annoying."

"While that sounds pleasant," he said. "I actually have another bullying session to get to, so I'm gonna have to politely reschedule."

Before the man could reply, Jake shot away and slid into his seat next to Amy and Rosa. Although the entire table rattled from the impact, the two hardly reacted more than a lazy glance.

Jake groaned. "I'm gonna die in here."

"Yeah, I know," Amy said.

"As much as I love talking about death," Rosa interjected, "I have news. I heard about this big laser tag game the boss is taking a bunch of guys to. People think it's a drug front."

"How did you know that?" Amy asked. 

"You end up hearing a lot in the med bay."

The pair exchanged an odd glance as if they somehow were uploading information to each other. Jake didn't know much about science, but he had seen it done before in science fiction movies. Either that or it was some pretty wicked telepathy. He cleared his throat, trying to subtly nudge his way back into the conversation.

"Drug front or not," he said, "it's still laser tag, and laser tag is bomb. I won't say I always win, but... okay, yes I will! I always win and it is _glorious_."

Rosa rolled her eyes, "like it all you want, but we have no way to get on the case."

"I think luck might be in our favor there," Amy said. 

The subtle shift in her expression was lost on Jake, who simply responded, "oh, uh, maybe, yeah."

Of course, he tried to respond with anything he possibly could, dreading the silence. As his brain often made connections quickly, not quite knowing what was going on was practically the bane of his existence. Amy jabbed him in the ribs, causing his head to shoot up. However, one look at her expectant glance was all it took for him to understand the situation. 

"We don't exactly have _that_ good of a relationship, you know," he clarified. 

She elbowed him again, this time more forcefully into his leg. Perhaps his next words followed as a subconscious desire to appease her. After all, he cared about her opinion more than he would ever admit in the light of day. However, the more likely explanation was just that he wanted an immediate reprieve from the constant elbowing. 

He said, "fine, fine, I'll go."

Rosa quirked an eyebrow, but her silent question went unanswered.

"Are there any smuggling rings in here?" Jake stalled, fidgeting his leg under the table like a jackhammer. "I mean we seriously need some better food. Like Cheetos are only two bucks at the bodega and I'm not an economist, but this place seems pretty rich."

Amy seemed to catch on, cutting off his words with a clipped, "Jake-"

She unmistakably carried the tone of a school librarian, but, for some reason that would likely take him hours to explain, that was really doing it for him.

"Okay, okay," Jake relented with a sigh.

He stood up and paced out of the room, carefully weaving around the table with the burly man he offended earlier. Pretty soon, if he kept up at this rate, he would have to avoid every single table as he walked out of the room, or at least get a professional entourage with more muscles than himself to protect him.

He navigated along the maze of hallways until he reached the opulent doors of the boss's office. He desperately hoped this is what Amy was not-so-subtly hinting at the whole time, or, otherwise, the two had to prepare for a troubling misunderstanding. He took a deep, staggered breath before pushing his way into the room. Surprisingly, the latch was left unlocked. Perhaps they expected pure terror to stop anyone from entering.

The sharp lines on the boss's face took on more definition than usual when his eyes met Jake's. His mouth opened and closed in an uncharacteristic stupor. 

"Pierce, what are you doing here?" the boss's voice lowered. "You do know how to tell time, right? Or did I take a complete idiot under my wing?"

"I will admit I'm not that good at math, but, yeah, I realize I'm not supposed to be here until later," Jake paused. "Look, I heard some rumors about a really important case coming up.

He forced himself to neglect the laser tag details of it in favor of seeming more professional. "I know you're kind of mentoring me or whatever, so I thought it would be good if me and Santiago could, you know, get on that."

He would be lying if he said he didn't rush through his words just so that he could dart out of the room more quickly if he needed to. Thankfully, his expression leveled out and he looked almost pensive, which Jake certainly didn't expect from a mob boss.

"You got balls, kid. I like it," The boss settled on.

He wished he could deny the fact the words made his heart swell. He figured he would be a much better detective, and especially a better undercover cop, if his stupid daddy issues didn't get in the way. He attempted to focus himself back on the issue at hand, watching the boss's mouth move without registering any of the words. He strongly hoped he didn't miss anything pivotal.

The boss pushed up from his desk. "Be in the garage in ten minutes."

After walking out of the office, he almost ran face-first into Amy. If he were a car, the way he stopped would essentially be pounding his foot on the breaks and hoping he didn't careen into the car in front of him. It only took him a few seconds to recover from his daze and launch into the familiar zone of conversation.

"Were you just wandering across the hallways looking for me? Honestly, I'm touched," he teased.

"No way was I- okay, maybe I was, but I wasn't looking for you. I was looking for your information."

"Woah. That's harsh, Santiago. Maybe I won't be taking you along to the laser tag game after all."

Her face lit up, "are you being serious right now? Like, you actually got in. Because if you're messing with me-"

"I'm not."

Normally, he would joke around with her a bit more during his ten minutes of spare time, perhaps insert a bit of teasing with the upper hand he rarely received. However, her genuine excitement turned out to be his weakness. He felt his shoulder blades relax with nothing more than her expression. A feeble smile passed through his lips, and his heart almost jumped out of his chest as she returned it.

"I have absolutely no details about this," he continued, "but I know we're supposed to get in a car in ten minutes. I'm hoping you know how to get to the garage because otherwise we're screwed. I 100% forget it."

She spun around, her tight ponytail bobbing on her shoulders as she walked. Jake followed behind her like a motorcycle's sidecar. When they reached the car, he essentially went slackjawed, even though he had seen tons of opulent things in the compound. However, this car, if he could even call it that, simply went over the top. 

The headlights were so bright that they seemed to easily illuminate the entire garage as just an afterthought. Jake swore they somehow harnessed energy from the sun. Glancing inside, he could see multiple mini-fridges, multi-colored USB chargers, and speakers bigger than his head. Not to mention the physical length of the vehicle. Jake would figure that if the mob wanted to be inconspicuous, they would steer clear from any flashy limos, but he figured incorrectly.

It wasn't like actually sitting in the vehicle was any bit a let down either. The seats felt like he was resting on air, and the giant screens were packed with so many movies, including those he didn't even realize came out yet, that hours of the trip passed by seemingly in seconds. However, Jake's overactive imagination and restless tendencies didn't allow him to be content with simply sitting back and watching movies (unless that movie was Die Hard, which he could watch on loop. For days, likely). So, to quell his growing boredom, he turned to Amy, pestering her for information the whole way until the hotel. 

It was more one-sided than he would've liked, though. By the end of the conversation, he had rambled on and on about his life (save for the most important detail of becoming a cop) and even managed to expose his grandmother's nickname, Pineapples, to her. He guessed he would live to regret that one. The knowing smirk that appeared on Amy's face after he said it, even though he played it cool like nothing had happened, spoke volumes. Yet, at least he could be content knowing Amy cared enough to listen closely to what he was saying, even if it was just because her phone died a couple of hours before. Yet, in all he time she actually engaged her in conversation, he was able to glean nothing more from her than what she thought about stop signs. Unsurprisingly, she was in favor.

He found that when he talked to Amy, he hardly even registered the passing of time. He spent every moment immersed in her reluctant smile or soft, oak eyes until he could hardly even register he lived in an existence that didn't revolve around her. Perhaps, he would admit it was a bit dramatic, but he was in so deep he couldn't even care. In short, he was kind of screwed. He pushed those thoughts aside as a suited man guided them from the car into the glimmering hotel. He almost couldn't contain his grin as he mentally compared it to the best hotel in the world (the one from Home Alone 2, of course), but he passed off his excitement by pulling his lips into a straight line. 

Once the man handed the pair some key cards with a lithe, gloved hand, they advanced to the elevators, hardly having enough time to marvel at the intricate chandeliers plastered over every inch of the ceiling. A short elevator ride, some peppy music, and a surprisingly grueling walk down a carpeted hallway brought Jake and Amy to their shared room.

After scanning the key card, Jake flung down his mafia-issued suitcase, leaping from facet to facet of the room to survey it. 

"Dude!" he exclaimed from behind a corner. "they have cold towels in here! It's like a hot towel but ten times more fancy."

He rubbed the towel on his hands for a moment before flinging it aside. He was going to pick it up later, or so he told himself. He rushed into the bathroom, blowing past Amy who had just barely shut the door behind her.

"Breaking news, there is literally a remote in here." he clicked one of the buttons, watching a football field illuminate in front of him. "Oh my God. Mirror TV."

He clutched the soap in one hand and reported, "Not that I know what gold smells like, but if I did, this would be it."

This process continued for some time, with Jake rushing around the room and commenting on every little innovation he could find and Amy sorting out her belongings. Eventually, with Jake only around halfway done with his exploration and Amy already tucked under the sheet of her bed, she decided to speak up. 

"Better gear up and get used to the excitement, Pineapples, because it seems like we're having a busy couple of days," she advised.

"Let me just say, on the record, that I _really_ regret telling you that."

Yet, as he unpacked his own belongings, he found himself having to unpack the thoughts in his own head. The truth was, he didn't regret telling her that. He would tell her about his whole life at the snap of her fingers if she requested it. And that was exactly why he suspected she would be the one person to bring his whole mission down for good.


	6. Bang Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title credits to the song 'Bang Bang' by Green Day.

Jake woke up with a jolt to a pair of hands shaking his shoulders. Straining his eyes against the lamp's light, he focused his attention toward Amy. His head buzzed, causing her words to sound more like gibberish than anything discernable. When he could finally decipher her words, they became much more forceful and annunciated as he would've liked.

"Wake up," she repeated for what had to be the umpteenth time.

Despite the tangle of curls that fell into his eyes, he projected a sleepy grin onto his face. 

Jake said, "at least, I didn't wake up handcuffed."

"Yeah, yeah." she rolled her eyes. "Just get ready."

"Five more minutes," he groaned, burying his head into the stitched pillowcase.

"You said that five minutes ago. Come on. We need to be ready."

Jake registered the faint sound of her ruffling through a bag. He almost lifted his head, but his desire to sleep far overpowered any of his curiosity. A few moments later, a malleable clump nailed him in the chest. When he opened his eyes, Amy stood by his bedside again.

"Get dressed."

Jake didn't appreciate how it was more of an order than a suggestion, but he decided keeping his mouth shut would be wise

"How do you even know what we're supposed to do in the first place?" he asked. 

She dug her phone out of her pocket, "I got his phone last night. His. _His_. The boss."

"Yeah, I gathered that. Thanks for the clarification." Jake chuckled. 

"It was the best moment of my life."

"You know what would be the best moment of my life? Actually getting to have a phone in the first place."

She said, "yeah, well, you haven't been with us for a long time. You haven't exactly earned anyone's trust."

"Rude, they put me on this mission."

"Which is favoritism," she cut in.

"Favoritism that _you_ encouraged!"

"Hey, I never actually _said_ a single thing. I'm not that dumb. There are cameras everywhere."

Jake swallowed. He had recently become far too familiar with the concept of constant surveillance.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Santiago."

Rubbing the dreariness out of his eyes, he tossed his covers off and let them topple to the ground below. After he mustered the energy to do so, he clutched his clothes under his armpit and went into the bathroom to change. Once he got out of the shower and put on his clothes, he burst out of the room with his comb in hand. From there, he started dancing to whatever song came to his head as he completed his daily routine. He hoped it would at least be somewhat endearing because he wasn't stopping. It was kind of like some weird gut instinct. It hadn't quite settled into him how helpful this mission would be on his case until now, so, in some weird way, this was like a celebration.

"You look like an idiot," Amy scoffed. 

"Yeah, a _charming_ idiot." 

"Whatever you say."

"Oooooh" Jake spun around, a grin lighting up his face. "You think I'm charming!" 

Before Amy could respond, he strode back into the bathroom and set down his comb. He looked surprisingly polished for once. Given that he was used to staring in the mirror and seeing hair matted with blood and a face full of bruises staring back at him, his current appearance was pretty much revolutionary.

"Let's go," Amy suggested. 

Her words turned out to be a moot point, because, by the time he exited the bathroom, Amy was already pushing her way out the door and he had no other choice. Given that all his possessions had been stripped from him, though, all he had to do was slip on his shoes and run out.

Jake hardly had time to glance at the intricate hallways, filled with ornate designs and what appeared to be precious metals, as he rushed after Amy. After a few moments of following, they reached a conference room. When they pushed through the doors, Jake saw a group of suited men milling around and ending up in clusters of casual conversation. Jake felt out of place with nothing more than his drab uniform among these better-dressed men. He couldn't imagine what Amy, the only woman in the entire room, must be feeling like. It seemed like, to nobody's surprise, the mob had a sexism problem.

The boss, clad in a similar suit, strode by them. He wrinkled his nose slightly, seeming paralyzed in his spot before he directed his attention to Jake and Amy. Jake practically felt his resolve weaken. The boss was like a vulture, his eyes focused only upon those he knew were already dead in the water. 

Eventually, he barked out an order: "guard the door."

"Who's that?" Amy's eyes narrowed in confusion. 

He replied, "just, you know... the boss. No big deal."

"The boss?" she gasped, her voice rising in pitch. "Are you serious? And you didn't tell me? What?"

"Uh, yeah. Just try to keep it in your pants, Santiago."

Shortly after the boss passed them, the lively conservation of the crowd quieted into hushed murmurs. The man himself took the stage with some muted applause following behind him. He stationed himself behind the lone pedestal and cleared his throat. 

"Gentlemen, I would like to clear up a great deal of the mystery around our arrival here. I appreciate your patience," he said. "We will be here for one day and one night. We'll be doing an inventory survey and inspect the operations of one of our top distributors. The rest is classified until we get to a more secure location, and, for some of you, will be classified forever."

Jake turned to Amy, "classified forever. Title of your sex tape."

She promptly slapped him on the arm. He supposed he deserved it, but it didn't do anything to dimish from the pain of his forming rash.

He hardly even registered the path they took into the garage and back to the limo. He would love to say his observational skills were more heightened than the average human being, but in this case, being in a surging crowd was enough for him to not bother to register anything useful around him. Amy pulled on Jake's arm, tethering him in place as the others went to find their seats in the vehicles. He watched as the others, who seemed to almost robotically know where to go, settled into their place. 

When Jake and Amy finally advanced, after watching everyone else for a painstakingly long time, all the doors had been slammed shut except the one in the front. Given that neither of them would drive the limo, they quickly deduced that there was only one seat left for them in the entire vehicle. The situation made Jake feel like he was sitting in a sauna. The cold garage no longer chilled him. Rather, he stood there feeling like he was going to sweat through his clothes with a flushed face.

"They must not have expected the extra company," Amy said. "We did join pretty late."

He was grateful, at the very least, that she broke the silence. Otherwise, he would have stayed frozen in place until he resembled a scarecrow more than a human being.

They both piled into the seat, trying, fruitlessly, to maintain an even somewhat respectful distance away from each other. The two were packed like sardines. With every weaving turn, they just ended up pressed more against each other, making the whole trip seem excruciatingly long. The tangle of limbs they were forced into would surely be awkward for anyone. However, his budding attraction to her (which, honestly, could not be consider budding if it had been there the whole time) only made the situation worse. When the car screetched to a stop, the let out a heavy sigh of relief.

The laser tag venue was filthy, but it wasn't like he had seen one that wasn't. The floors were moist with spilled soda and exuded the sickening smell of rotting butter. The arcade games were old and decrepit, with all the important buttons worn down by years of overuse. The walls were plastered with outdated posters, boasting to have all of the latest pop culture phenomena, even though nothing that was relevant later than the early 90s was pictured.

However, Jake could deal with the run-down state of the place if it meant he got to play at least one game of laser tag. Since he hadn't yet been given any orders, though, he simply settled for crossing his arms and pretending to look important. One of the suited men from earlier broke off from the crowd. Jake had to assume the man had more authority from him, not just because of the fancy suit (although, that was a good start), but also because it seemed everyone here had been in the mafia far longer than him.

Rather than even knowledging Jake's presence, he strode directly up to Amy. He began to murmur directions to her which she responded to with a couple of gentle nods.

"He says we have unlimited laser tag games," Amy relayed after he walked away. "All we have to do is stay in there and shoot every person who comes in for a game so they don't come near the back room, and, hopefully, just leave."

Jake's face lit up with a child-like grin. "Now that is something I can do. I'm a total boss at laser tag. I played it all the time as a kid. God tier level distraction. Especially, when your dad is hooking up in the back room."

He jogged off in the direction of the game room before Amy could comment on his pitiful childhood. She likely had a much better or much worse experience growing up than him. Who knew what drove people to end up in these gangs? Greed? Desperation? The answer was completely lost on Jake, but he supposed he would find out at some point. The operation did not appear to be going super quickly, so perhaps he would find out at some point before he either left or died. While bleak, he really only had those two options.

They got to forgo the room where a half-hearted teenage instructor would explain the rules to them, which Jake was more than happy about. He was never one for strict rules, especially in something as simple as laser tag. Meanwhile, Amy looked like she was halfway to devastation.

They moved into the next room that contained rows and rows of laser tag vests attached to glowing guns. For Jake, it was like the treasure room of a castle. He slipped on his vest as soft as possible, focusing his gun on the wall and pulling the trigger absentmindedly. However, after a few moments of this, he noticed Amy struggling to tighten her own vest.

"What's wrong, Santiago?" Jake asked teasingly. "Never done this before?"

"Actually, to be perfectly candid, I haven't."

"What?! How? Did you live in a cave as a child? That is _the only_ reasonable explanation for never having played the best game of all time."

Amy's nose wrinkled defensively. "What's so wrong with that? I just wasn't what I spent my time doing. I'm sure there's stuff you never did as a child."

"Yeah, but just lame stuff like reading...and math."

"God, how did you even pass high school?"

Jake let out a mixture between a laugh and a scoff. "You're the one who can't put on a laser tag vest, so...who's the real loser here?"

Amy continued to struggle with the straps on her vest, shoulders sinking in frustration. Rather than being condescending, as he probably would have been a month ago, he instead took a step forward with a soft tone. 

"Uh, do you need any help there?"

Amy groaned and threw her arms down to her sides. "Okay, yes. I need help. Go ahead and make fun of me. You earned it."

"Well, it's your lucky day. I'm surprisingly feeling super merciful. I'll just..."

As he trailed off, he slipped forward almost graceful and navigated his hands to the straps around her waist. They were close, almost too close. Frankly, that was something Jake had ever even imagined he would get to think. As he worked, he quietly hummed to himself in an attempt to dispel some of the awkwardness of the situation. However, when his hand skimmed her waist, he found himself having to swallow the lump in his throat and step away from her, in all his blushing glory.

"It's nice and snug," Jake's voice started out shakily but began to become more stable. "But don't think that'll help you win or anything. I was born and bred playing this game."

"Dude, I've shot a real gun."

"Well, so have I, so get ready because you're about to get destroyed by," he lowered his voice, "Starkiller 722."

Amy glanced down, eyes narrowing. "This must be a typo, right? Mine just says 'my penis'. Is that normal or?"

Jake immediately jumped on the situation, pushing her into the game room with a hand on her back, 

"Well, it must've gotten hacked," he rushed through his words as he pushed. "No time to change it. What a shame. Let's go."

For the next few hours (yes, hours) the two camped out inside the glowing room. They hid behind every corner, barricade, and support they could find while shooting at everyone who came in. Sometimes, there was friendly fire between the two, but they mostly distracted themselves by looking for wandering people or simply walking around the surprisingly expansive area. It struck Jake a little late that the drugs were likely somewhere right near him. Everything he learned in the academy screamed at him to look for them, but he resisted the urge for the sake of his mission.

Jake found himself hoping they were right under the floor because the only people he ended up destroying over and over again were. He felt bad about crushing their dreams, but, then again, if there were drugs, he would be protecting the kids from them. So, by completely decimating the defenseless children, he was kind of a hero.

After a few hours, it seemed that no one else entered through the doors, leaving Jake and Amy squatted behind a barrier, sitting in silence.

Jake glanced down at his watch. "It's 3:00 o' clock. You know what that means."

"Why don't you pretend like I haven't known you for your entire life for once."

"Laser tag to the death? Best out of three."

"You're so on." A competitive smile blossomed on her face.

The two fled to opposite sides of the room, preparing themselves for the battle of their lives. Or, at least, it was the battle of Jake's life. Amy simply had a slightly above average desire to win thanks to her unrelenting competitiveness. When Amy gave him the cue to start the game, Jake started climbing and crawling around the area, essentially treating it as a life or death action movie in which he was the star. Meanwhile, while Amy was much less passionate, she was far more practical in her maneuvers, meaning they managed to score a similar amount of shots. With his flashy moves, Jake won round one while Amy picked up the win for round two. This lead to a particularly intense fight for the last round and mantle of victor. 

The two sprinted back and forth across the area, sweat shinning on their foreheads. Each shot one scored was rivaled by another from their opponent, making the match incredibly close. They vied for the virtual points like they were dopamine. After a few minutes of tense fighting, Amy narrowly squeaked out a win due to her more levelheaded and less flamboyant gameplay.

At the end, both Jake and Amy were left panting and wheezing. Surprisingly, this was probably the most he had ever exerted himself in his whole time here. When they finished their game, they wordlessly exited the room, Jake propping the door open for her as she slid through. Somehow, even with his limited time of knowing her, their nonverbal communication was spot-on.

When they reached the main room, Amy received some quick, hushed instructions. She then hooked her arm around his elbow and hastily dragged him out of the building, right into the cramped front seat of the limo. After only a few seconds past, the car roared into action, the engine revving loudly. As they sped down the street, Jake finally decided to try to gather some information.

"Can you please explain why we ran out of there like Indiana Jones with that big rock?" He asked. 

"Apparently we have to intercept a wedding. It turns out one of the men bailed on the operation and is about the release the information to the feds. We're supposed to find him at the wedding and assassinate him."

Jake swallowed hard. She rummaged through her bag and shoved a small pistol into his hands. He rolled the weapon over and over again in his palms as if it would dispel the growing anxiety in his gut. The tangibility of the gun only confirmed what he knew all along in the abstract. This was real. This gang expected him to murder people for them, and, if he wanted to stay undercover, he would have to do it without hesitation.

When they arrived at the opulent venue, it seemed the ceremonies were already over. Rather than sentimental speeches and sobbing, most of the guests were engaged in getting drunk and dancing. That made it all the more awkward as Jake, Amy, a throng of suited men poured in. While the other men mingled among the crowd, looking as if they had a purpose, Jake and Amy simply stood in the corner, as stiff as boards.

"You can't just stand there the whole time," Jake said, leaning in toward Amy. "You gotta act natural. Yaknow, do a bit of dancing. Maybe drink something. On second thought, maybe that last thing isn't such a good idea."

"Well...I actually don't know how. To dance, that is. I know how to get drunk."

A smile broke out across Jake's face. "So the sharpest shooter in this whole place can't even dance?"

"Shut up."

"No, no, I'm actually tempted to show you how. You know, like, for the cover."

"Yeah," she agreed. "The cover."

Jake offers her his hand, which she clutched onto. From there, he unabashedly pulled her right to the center of the dance floor. Jake placed on hand on her waist and other on her shoulder, next to the strap of the dress she hastily changed into. At first contact, she pulled back from his touch before she settled into it. He murmured gentle instructions to her, but she didn't really seem to need them. He mostly led by example, stepping slowly and waiting for her to mirror his steps. Soon after, they feel into a solid, and almost soothing, pattern.

Jake's heart pounded. It became hard for him to think clearly. The serenity he felt from just dancing with her for a few moments consumed his entire mind. He only had one thought: this couldn't be happening. He couldn't feel this way. He knew he was attracted to her since the beginning, but now, that attraction was blossoming into genuine feelings. He had tons of reservations. First, he couldn't remember a time in the past he had ever fallen in love. In fact, he doubted he even still believed in true love after the disaster than was his parents' relationship. Plus, only having known her for a couple of months in the crucible of a violent gang would put a strain on any relationship, especially an unrequited one. 

It simply wasn't possible. 

His heart thumped, and he found himself counting the beats. _One, two, three, bam!_ A gunshot ricochetted through the room on his last heartbeat. The room plunged into chaos, with screaming and shouting filling the silence left after the gunshot. Jake pulled out his gun from his pocket, but he couldn't help but brandish it hesitantly. 

Everyone in the area was a stranger, and he certainly wasn't interested in just ending their lives without any background information. What if they were meant to be the president of the United States one day and Jake simply put a bullet in their head without a thought? At least, the scattering, running people were a distraction from his wavering loyalty, but it wouldn't last forever.

He fired a shot in front of him, intentionally nailing the chair in front of him rather than any living, breathing person. He hoped later he would be able to pass it off as bad aim. There was enough carnage around him anyway without him adding another body to the mix. However, after his shot, Jake froze in place like a deer in headlights. He only managed to start escaping when Amy grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him along. Once she set him in motion, though, he was able to follow beside her without much mental exertion. 

"I hope you didn't bring anything valuable," Amy shouted over the crowd, "because there's no way you're getting it back."

"Very bold of you to assume I have anything valuable."

Their interactions always added some levity to tense situations. At least, it was enough to distract Jake from the wreckage they had caused inside. Only when the car began to yet again roar away did he feel his breaths even out. Even in the confine of the vehicle, adrenaline still pumped through his veins. He couldn't believe he was living this life, even if it was only temporary. He felt like every day in the environment took years off his lifespan, which was something not even his poor diet and physical fitness seemed to do. Yet, he found the whole experience was a million times more tolerable with Amy there by his side.


	7. Could Have Been Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: quite a bit of violence in this chapter. Of course, there's a lot of violence in this entire fic, but I just wanted to let you all know!
> 
> Title credit to the song Could Have Been Me by The Struts (I swear, these fic titles are just me throwing whatever I'm currently listening to in and trying to make it relate)

Since the mission, Jake had spent another month in the compound, which passed in the blink of an eye. He would have expected his entire ordeal to go on excruciatingly long. Before he was assigned to the case, he imagined something extreme would happen straight out of a crime novel. He would be lying if he didn't say he expected to get stabbed with a spoon over nothing more than a little squabble. He expected everyone in the gang to be a firestarter, but he actually seemed to be the rowdiest one in the room most of the time. For the most part, his time there was probably just as memorable as a mundane office job. 

In some ways, that allowed him to have a hell of a time without risking his neck, but it had also just been more of the same old routine. He suffered through the same training, the same underwhelming missions, and the same freezing and absolutely mindnumbing door duty. Sometimes, he felt an utter lack of motivation. No matter how hard he racked his brain, he could hardly muster a reason he was doing this anymore. At this point, it seemed like it would take years for him to even get close to any information.

However, no matter how uncertain he was, he was confident in one thing that was tearing him apart: he had a _major_ crush on one Amy Santiago. He wasn't quite sure the adequate levels of _oh shit_ had hit him yet. She was a criminal. She was one of the very people he worked tirelessly every day to put behind bars, and he would drop everything to cater to her every request. In short, he was utterly screwed. Even as he tried to convince himself not to further his emotional attachment, he clung onto the simple question of if there was any way she could reciprocate his attraction. As much as he wanted to believe there was, doubt tugged at his stomach.

Jake was too busy focusing on the opposite wall to notice her eyes boring into him from her bed. When he finally turned to her, he had to strain to hear what exactly she was saying. 

"Hello? Earth to Jason."

The name slid off her tongue so easily, Jake almost forgot it wasn't his own. Left a little dazed, he came up with the incredibly intelligent response of: "Huh, what?"

Hopefully, Amy wasn't too into articulate men. He liked to consider himself pretty witty, but, every moment he spent thinking about her, it was as if he flushed any words he had down the drain.

She chuckled softly. "I've never seen you go this long without saying something. It's like a whole new you."

"I guess I'm just thinking." 

Jake hoped the curtness of his reply would stop Amy from pressing on the subject and trying to figure out what exactly he was talking about. Sure, he learned at the police academy to keep his cool, but, he seemed to notice a pattern of all his resolve crumbling around Amy. 

"Oh wow. That's also new for you. Jason Pierce _thinking_?" 

"Gee, thanks," Jake said, grinning. Her teasing was a welcome distraction. 

"But, seriously," Amy's matching smile faded. "I've been trained to detect emotions, and I know something's up. It's not like I really needed it, though. You're not exactly subtle."

He scrambled for a quick lie, but, as his mouth opened and closed fruitlessly, he realized his normal stalling wouldn't do the trick. Instead, he paused, as if the entire ordeal was mentally taxing, fixing Amy with his best puppy dog eyes. He swallowed hard, allowing his throat to get enough moisture to spill his quickly contrived lie. Perhaps, when he got out of this compound, he would join an improv troop. 

"Well, you know these meetings I have to go to every other night," He lowered his voice a bit. "With the boss. It's getting a little shady. These random guys keep coming in and- you know, it would probably be for the best if I didn't tell you."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to know too much. You could get hurt."

Of course, it was simply because he didn't want to keep improvising, but it didn't hurt to end the conversation _and_ try to flatter her. Given her response, though, the emphasis should have been on "try to"

She laughed. "I'm the who's gonna get hurt. That's weird coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"All I'm saying is that you're not the first. From what I've heard, the boss always has a protege. He goes missing. Every time. Some say it's because they moved up so far, but, the more likely story is that he kills them."

Jake felt a lump forming in his throat. His eyes shifted around the room. At this point, he would be content with looking anywhere except Amy's eyes, but that was where his gaze always seemed to settle. 

"Well," Jake finally spoke. "I don't think that'll happen to me. I'm going all-in on this whole father/son bond thing."

"So did everyone else."

"No way," Jake said. "You're just messing with me."

"Every person he chooses has daddy issues. It's obvious from the moment they walk in this place."

"I don't!" Jake protested, folding his arms over his chest. 

Amy cast a pointed glance in his direction, one that, like an x-ray, somehow saw right through him. He expected her to give up, but her gaze remained firmly on him. She simply kept looking over, one eyebrow raised, until Jake finally caved. 

"Fine, maybe I have a cheating asshole of a dad, but there's no way I have daddy issues."

She gave him another one of her glances. They were happening so often in the conversation, Jake began to wonder if it was her signature look. Perhaps she had the special ability of giving men one look and making them spill their entire heart. 

"Okay, maybe I had such a crappy dad that I've clung onto every male authority figure in my life, but that's normal. I mean, everyone has to look up to someone. Sure, one time I literally called Greg from the video shop my dad, but that's just...holy shit. I do have daddy issues."

"And that's a revelation for you?"

"Yeah! I mean, kinda. Just let me have my moment, Amy," he said, his tone playfully defensive but never harsh. 

"Have all the moments you want. You're not going to have many more of them if you keep hanging out with the boss."

"Wow. Someone really knows how to bring down a mood. Has anyone ever told you that you should be a professional party pooper?"

"That might have been my high school superlative," Amy cleared her throat as a flush rose to her cheeks. 

"Wow, Amy Santiago telling a tidbit from her past? I should probably savor it. They only come about once every thousand years."

Amy sighed. "Quit the distractions. You have to face up to the facts, and the fact is that you have an above-average chance of dying."

"Well, facts are boring. Like, let me come up with one. Did you know 10% of the people in the world hate the movie Die Hard. No, that's too high. Let's say 5%, but they're absolute monsters."

"I don't even think that's true. A good recommendation for statistics: don't change them after you already said them out loud."

"It should be true. Either that or 0%, but, either way, you wouldn't know, because I bet you 't even listen to the whole thing out of boredom. Thus, back to my point. Facts are lame." 

Amy simply rolled her eyes, allowing an amused smirk to creep onto her face. The two settled back into a lull of comfortable silence. After a few minutes of savoring the peace among the chaos, like he was in the eye of the storm, Jake finally spoke up.

"Are you saying I should leave him?" Jake asked. 

Despite his question, he doubted there was really an easy way out of the inner circle of a mob without leaving completely. 

"No. I'm telling you to be careful. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, you know?"

"And, just to clarify, you're perfectly fine sending me into a situation that could get me killed?"

She paused. "Rather you than me."

"Damn." He pulled a hand to his chest in mock offense. "That's cold. I thought we had something going here."

Jake looked up at the clock, which was ticking methodically. At least something in this chaotic environment was consistent unless someone had been messing with the passage of time behind the scenes. When he finally registered the time the clock displayed, he inhaled. He had no idea that time could pass so fast since his last task. He supposed it would be too much to ask to savor the break time he had. 

While he was reluctant to trade away his time spent talking to Amy, he could look back and say that the time might have been better spent taking deep breaths and trying to brace himself for tonight's encounter with the boss. He was especially wary given what Amy had just told him. Of course, he always knew that every comment, and even every motion, he made up there was taking his life into his hands. However, the sudden clarity he had about exactly how likely he was to die at any moment was startling, to say the least. 

Jake coughed and pushed up from his bed. As he did, the springs practically shrieked, which made sense. Every night, he felt as if he had to reposition thousands of times to not feel like he was sleeping on a bed of nails. Amy looked up at him with mild interest. It almost reminded him of a cat, lazily watching its prey pass by. 

As he passed by her, he channeled all his willpower into not venturing a glance back. Only when he reached the hallway, out of her sight, did he relax his shoulders. In fact, he didn't even realize they were tensed. No one had the ability to make him feel so unnerved yet comfortable like Amy Santiago. 

As he paced down the hallway, he noticed a few vaguely familiar men. While he didn't get to step out of Amy's sightline often enough to really meet new people, perhaps he passed them in the dining hall or something. If he was being honest, it was hard to tell many of the gang members apart. With muscles and tattoos abound, they were polar opposites of Jake but practically carbon copies of each other. Still, Jake nodded at each one as they passed, trying to maintain some dignity around the compound.

Normally, Jake would try to be hyper-aware of his surroundings. Here, a punch or a gunshot could come out of nowhere. But, either the monotonous white of the walls or his spinning thoughts caused him to have no more consciousness than a zombie from a cheesy 80s horror flick. When he reached the overbearing doors of the boss' office, he could hardly recall any of the steps he had taken to get there. 

Jake pulled open the door, grunting slightly at the effort. He slipped into the room, trying to find his place among the subdued chatter. 

Surprisingly, he noted that he was a bit early, or so the gigantic grandfather clock in front of him informed him. Given that he usually stumbled into every event late and bleary-eyed, he didn't really know what people did in this situation. He advanced toward the nearest brute and decided to make some small talk.

He recognized the burly man, with a red scar down the left side of his face, from an earlier conversation. Being bad with names, Jake simply called him Scar (like The Lion King) in his head, which he thought was very clever but would probably earn him a beating if he ever said it out loud. His struggle to remember the man's name created an extended period of silence before he tried to get the man's attention.

"Todd! Hey!" Jake greeted him cheerily. 

He winced, hoping he hadn't put all the effort in to simply misremember the man's name. 

"Pierce," The man said gruffly.

It wasn't the warm greeting Jake hoped for, but at least it meant he probably hadn't messed up the taller man's name.

"So, uh, how's the family?" Jake asked. 

He remembered him talking about a couple of daughters and a wife. He figured if he had brought it up earlier, he wouldn't be averse to discussing it again. 

"Could be dead for all I know. Haven't seen them in months."

"Wow," Jake chocked out, surprised by the bluntness of his answer. "Well, that's a pretty dark place to take it, isn't it?"

"Not in this line of, buddy. We didn't all get here through nepotism. Some of us had to fight and claw our way up, and make some enemies along the way."

"Yeah, I got you, man," Jake said, even though he absolutely did not get him whatsoever.

Sensing an end to the conversation, Jake strode away, watching as Todd began a more jovial conversation with one of the other men. He transferred his weight to one hip, leaning against a nearby wall. He always seemed to be the odd man out in these gatherings, but it was unsurprising. His worldview was miles away from any of theirs as a cop. Still, it was difficult to stand in a room where he worried he was constantly being judged. It could be worse, though. At least, he wasn't completely shunned from the group due to the boss' overt favor for him.

Jake glanced around. Any one of the collected men could have a secret grudge against him, and, he had to admit, they had a good reason to. He had gotten to his high rank so miraculously fast, even he wasn't past the suspicion it was all just pretend.

Jake simply watched the men talk with each other until finally, the boss stood in front of them, his hands clasped together eagerly.

"You may notice we have a few extra friends gathered here today," he shouted above the dying chatter of the crowd. "That is because I have some very special news to share with all of you. But, first, I think I should show you."

The boss lifted his hands up and the crowd roared in approval. Jake figured they were simply sucking up, but, either way, their excitement was palpable. He couldn't blame them. The boss spoke with all the flare of a ringleader announcing his next circus act. Jake could help but let his brow furrow curiously.

A distinct squeaking sound filled the room. Jake's head shot up, his eyes trained on the corner of the room. An oversized wheel entered his view, badly screwed onto a large wooden chair. However, the sloppy manufacturing of the chair was far from what caught Jake's eye. Instead, the struggling figure on it captured his attention. The man's arms were bound by fraying ropes, yet he still didn't seem to have the energy to break free from them.

As the man thrashed around, a black plastic bag on his head crinkled loudly. Jake briefly wondered if he could breathe under there and felt his own breaths picking up. Jake shoulders scrunched together.

The man behind the chair, wearing a satisfied smirk, rolled the rickety setup next to the boss. 

"Now," the boss began. "This might not look like much. He's a pretty sorry sight, I'll admit. Believe it or not, this is one of 'Brooklyn's finest'. I suppose what that means is that Brooklyn doesn't stand a single chance against us."

A bit of laughter jumped out from the crowd. Jake swallowed the forming lump in his throat. There was no subtly about it. They had captured a cop. Not only could this completely sabotage his mission, but it would also be a total bloodbath.

With the same flair, the boss yanked the bag off the man's head, leaving him blinking in the sudden harsh light. Jake took a deep breath, almost choking on it with his complete inability to process the scene in front of him. It was Charles. They had gotten Charles.

He had seen his best friend many times before. He caught him smiling around the precinct, cracking unknowingly inappropriate jokes, and playing in the park with his son. Jake almost lost it in the middle of the room at just the thought of Nikolaj, but he brought his attention back to Charles. Never, in all of the awkward situations Jake had caught Charles in, did he ever expect to see him like this. He was so helpless, restrained to the chair like an animal in a muzzle.

Jake could feel the anticipation hovering in the room. Each man eagerly awaited the boss' next words as if they were devotees waiting on a cult leader.

The boss explained to the crowd, "we found him snooping around the compound like an idiot. It was almost too easy to catch him."

Jake felt a sharp pang of guilt in his chest. Of course, he had no proof, but it was likely Charles had been apprehended trying to find him for one reason or another. Still, he forced an emotionless look onto his face, trying not to give away his connection to Charles.

Yet, that task suddenly became a whole lot harder. 

To Jake's horror, a couple of the men started to advance with clenched fists and furrowed eyebrows. They looked _furious_ , so angry that, if they were in a cartoon, they would be glowing a vivid shade of red. Jake stayed on the sidelines, but his body twitched as if begging him to bolt forward and do something.

The first man aimed a punch at Charles' gut, causing him to double over. Yet, restrained by the chair, he could do little more than let out a weak groan and pull against the ropes. As more punches followed, Charles bit his lip but to no avail. No matter how hard he tried to keep his resolve, he couldn't stop the sporadic yelps and screams from escaping. 

They barraged his body so much that he could hardly even take a strangled breath without another punch. Eventually, the beating began to take a clear physical toll on his body. 

The visible skin on Charles' body was now marred by red rashes and patches of blood. Various wounds had opened up on his face, causing drops of blood to trickle down onto his shirt. He suspected one of the men of holding a concealed knife when he spotted slash marks and blood on Charles' button-up. He didn't expect them to play fair, but he certainly didn't expect them to be so intense so soon.

As Jake looked over at Charles' battered form, he had a striking realization. If he couldn't get him out in a few days, he would die in here. These men had too much of a vengeance against cops to see the reason in keeping him alive and coherent enough to give up information.

"Jason! Do you want a go? You're missing out on all the fun."

Jake snapped his head up at one of the men. The gang member smiled, despite the blood speckled over his face.

Jake swallowed so hard that he almost couldn't force the words out. "Alright." 

Jake walked over to the group slowly, limbs drooping as if he was in the middle of the funeral procession. The men collected around Charles parted like the red sea, allowing Jake to see a clear view of his bloodied face. He gulped but tried to contort his face in a way that reassured Charles he would get him out of there. He also hoped his facial expression was sincere enough to apologize for what he was about to do.

Jake winced, before clenching his fist and aiming an almost gentle punch to Charles' ribs. However, after silence and a few judging glares, Jake squeezed his eyes shut and began to aim a flurry of punches all over Charles' body. He hated punching him so hard, he really did, but he knew that Charles would get hurt either way, and the harder he committed to his role, the easier it would be the get Charles out in the long run. 

As Jake landed punch after the punch, feeling bones and skin crack beneath his knuckles, the men roared in approval. In his adrenaline-fueled haze, he could only catch a bit of what they were saying. 

"I knew he had it in him," One man said. 

Another countered, "please, you said he should be kicked out yesterday."

"I put good money on the fact he wasn't a cop." 

Eventually, Jake pulled away, hoping the bloodthirsty men were satisfied enough. After all, he looked just like one of them. His shirt was coated in blood. His shoulders bobbed as he took panting, almost animal-like breaths.

He was disgusted by what this mission had turned him into.

As he stood there, almost paralyzed by his thoughts, he felt a firm hand clap him on the book. He spun around to see none other than the boss, wearing a proud smirk like it was second nature. 

"Good job, Pierce," the boss said. "Why don't you take it easy for a few minutes and just watch the fun. You look like you just fought a bull."

Jake gratefully staggered back, taking up his previous place at the wall. He felt one more second of standing would have caused his legs to give out. Now, all he could do was stand back and watch helplessly.

The boss again grinned from ear to ear. "Since this guy's a cop, I decided I would bring him a special treat. What could be better than giving him a taste of his own medicine?"

The boss reached into his pocket, pulling out a black object with highlights of neon yellow. Once he shifted back into his reasonable brain, he immediately identified the object as a taser. He had held and seen them thousands of times but never once had he had to use them on anything other than melons at the precinct. 

Jake could hardly catch a glimpse of what was happening from behind the immense crowd. However, even then, he saw far more than he wanted to. Metallic coils lept out of the taser, presumably landing on Charles' body. Then, the zapping sound of electricity, Charles' agonizing screams, and the twisted cheering of the men filled the room. Jake could see his body convulsing, desperately trying to get away from the taser but having nowhere to go. He wanted nothing more than to get his best friend out of the situation, but he saw no way to do so without endangering both of them even more. 

Jake tried to steady his breathing, but the cacophony erupting around him didn't make that so easy. Some deeply rooted fight or flight instinct told him he simply needed to get out of the environment, and quickly.

It wouldn't be hard to escape among the chaos. Of course, he wasn't supposed to leave, as it could easily get him caught and shot in the head, but he couldn't care less about the repercussions at the given moment. 

Jake tensed up before channeling all his energy into bolting out of the room. He continued down the hallways at an equally brisk pace, not running due to his horrible cardio skills but powerwalking as fast as humanly possible. At least, he liked to think it was quick, but it could very well be painfully slow. He found his sense of reality became more and more warped by the second.

His legs took him on autopilot back to his room. Sure, there were plenty of break rooms scattered around the compound, but it wasn't like he felt comfortable freaking out in front of hordes of men just trying to enjoy a coffee. 

When he reached the room, he was surprised to see it was cloaked in darkness. He expected Amy to be up, at least reading or something if not waiting for him to return. Although he found it odd, he pushed those thoughts aside. He didn't really have the mental energy to worry about those kinds of things. Instead, he simply focused on finding his way to the bed in the dark. 

Once he felt the cushy side of the mattress, he collapsed into his bed. It only took him a few moments of staring at the ceiling and trying to calm his breathing before some gentle tears began to slip out. Every attempt to stifle them simply led to some wheezing breaths and a bit of harder crying. 

He couldn't remember the last time he cried. After going through so much with his father, he figured that any sign of weakness was a sign that Roger had ruined him beyond repair. There was simply no way he was letting anyone think that. He couldn't even begin to image how demeaning that would be. 

Yet, his sense of pride had been greatly warped here. It was as if any dignity he had was flattened by a steamroller. Besides, Amy wasn't here to see him crying, so it wasn't a big deal as long as he could calm his emotions before she got back. 

"Are you crying?" Amy's voice asked. 

Oh fuck. He simply assumed she was out, but he didn't think to check her bed to see if he was there. He sniffled, forcing out a response. 

"Crying? No way. No crying here."

He doubted his lie was believable, but he figured telling the truth would be even more embarrassing than bawling in front of her. He expected her to throw some sort of teasing remark through the darkness, but he was only met by silence. He focused his stinging eyes back on the ceiling. 

Jake heard the sound of a gently creaking mattress. Seconds later, he felt the side of his own bed dip a little as Amy sat down on it. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. Her mere presence, and the fact that she cared enough to not just ignore him, somehow comforted him more than any of her words could.

Slowly, his breathing calmed down to a reasonable pace. His shoulders relaxed. His burning eyes practically tugged themselves shut. It took him a few moments to quiet his spinning mind, but, listening to Amy's gentle breath, he eventually drifted off to sleep. 


End file.
